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THE  PRICE  OF  SILENCE 


NOEMIE 


The  Price  of  Silence 


BY 


M.  E.  M.  DAVIS 


With  Illustrations  by  Griswold  Tyng 


BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY 

(Cfte  fitersibe  prcstf,  Camfatibge 
1907 


COPYRIGHT  1907  BY  M.  E.  M.  DAVIS 
ALL   RIGHTS  RESERVED 

Published  March  iqvj 


TO 
THOMAS  E.  DAVIS 


CONTENTS 


I.  PROLOGUE:  A  DOMICILIARY  VISIT     ...  1 

II.  MATIN 20 

III.  DANS  LE  TEMPS 36 

IV.  PIERRE'S  TERRACE 47 

V.  THE  Box .64 

VI.  A  FRUITLESS  STROLL 72 

VII.  AT  PETITPAIN'S 76 

VIII.  AT  LADY'S  RULE 85 

IX.  SEEING  DOUBLE 96 

X.  A  POSTPONEMENT 112 

XI.  IN  THE  COURTYARD 125 

XII.  THE  FIRE  DANCE 131 

XIII.  MIDI 140 

XIV.  SIRENE 148 

XV.  THE  LETTER 154 

XVI.  A  CONSULTATION 160 

XVII.  CORTLAND 170 

XVIII.  A  MORNING  CALL 178 

XIX.  GABREELLE  VERAC 182 

XX.  A  DISENTANGLED  SKEIN  ....  190 

XXI.  SISTER  MARY  OF  THE  ANGELS  ....  202 

XXII.  THE  SWORD 211 

XXIII.  OLD  BABE 221 

XXIV.  THE  GAVOTTE 234 

XXV.  THE  RECKONING 246 

XXVI.  LE  SOIR  .  261 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


(page  22)  Frontispiece 
MADAME  DE  LAUSSAN       .......      18 

SIDNEY  CORTLAND         .......         64 

MAJOR  GRANDCHAMPS      .......    164 

CAPTAIN  MAXIME  ALLARD  ......        190 

SIRENE  .    258 


THE  PRICE  OF  SILENCE 


PROLOGUE  :     A  DOMICILIARY  VISIT 

r  I  THE  narrow  streets  of  the  French  Quarter 
-•-  resembled  canals ;  the  rain,  descending  from 
a  sky  which  half  an  hour  earlier  had  been  as  in- 
nocently blue  as  a  baby's  eyes,  rolled  in  smoky 
waves  down  pointed  roofs  and  spouted  from  pro- 
jecting gutters ;  the  slender  arcs  on  either  side 
interlaced  in  mid-air  to  plunge,  a  frothing  col- 
umn, into  the  rising  flood  below.  Canal  Street 
was  for  the  moment  a  wide  lagoon ;  the  thorough- 
fares beyond  sent  up  a  reek  of  mud  and  ooze  to 
meet  the  deluge.  In  the  Garden  District,  mag- 
nolia and  rose-bush  cast  upon  miniature  seas  a 
vain  sacrifice  of  snow-white  and  rose-red.  The 
innumerable  Confederate  flags,  which  everywhere 
lent  a  bright  touch  of  color  to  a  background  of 
brick  and  stucco,  drooped,  washed-out  and  life- 
less, from  staff,  window-sill,  and  balcony.  The 


2  THE  PRICE   OF  SILENCE 

few  vehicles  abroad  stood  impotent,  or  moved 
doubtfully,  their  teams  belly-deep  in  water.  There 
were  no  women  visible,  and  but  few  men,  and 
there  was  a  strange  unearthly  hush  about,  unac- 
counted for  by  the  rain,  —  for  when  has  one  of 
their  birthright  waterspouts  kept  New  Orleans 
folk,  men  or  women,  indoors,  or  quenched  the 
lightsomeness  of  soul  which  is  theirs,  also  by 
inheritance?  But  now?  Yesterday,  the  flash 
of  gray  uniforms  uptown  and  down,  —  zouave, 
chasseur  a  pied,  home-guard,  regular,  —  the 
dancing  jingle  of  cavalry,  the  steady  tramp  of 
infantry,  clatter  of  artillery ;  the  hurrying  in  and 
the  speeding  forth  of  couriers;  the  sharp  chal- 
lenge of  sentry  and  guard ;  the  glitter  of  sword- 
hilt  and  bayonet;  the  blare  of  trumpets;  the  gay 
red-and-white  of  "  Confederate  "  flowers  on  bon- 
net or  parasol  of  grande  dame  and  bourgeoise; 
song,  badinage,  laughter !  Cheers  for  the  forts 
down  yonder  guarding  the  gateway  of  the  Mis- 
sissippi. 

To-day,  empty  streets,  closed  doors,  silence, 
terror,  despair. 

In  truth  a  wet  day  and  a  dreary,  that  25th  of 
April,  eighteen  hundred  and  sixty-two.  "Oh, 


PROLOGUE:  A  DOMICILIARY  VISIT    3 

but  of  a  wetness  to  drown  the  devil ! "  cries  Ma- 
dame de  Laussan,  telling  the  ancient  tale  once 
and  again,  "  and  of  a  melancholy,  mon  Dieu  !  " 
Madame's  aristocratic  old  hands  tremble  upon  the 
arms  of  her  high-backed  chair ;  her  bright  old 
eyes  cloud  and  droop. 

Across  the  rain-squall,  that  long-gone  day,  in- 
borne  townward  from  the  levee  in  fitful  whiffs, 
came  odd,  intermingled  odors,  —  pungent,  oily, 
candied,  resinous :  the  smell  of  burning  sugar, 
rice,  molasses,  cotton,  tarred  timber,  —  an  echo, 
as  it  were,  of  that  vast  holocaust  which  for  twenty- 
four  hours  had  lighted  the  river  front.  "  They 
may  eat  us  if  they  will,  those  Yankees,  —  may 
our  bones  choke  them  !  —  but  not  a  grain  of 
sugar,  neither  rice ;  not  a  rind  of  bacon  shall 
the  monsters  find.  Not  a  flake  of  cotton,  not 
a  gunboat ;  not  even  so  much  as  a  pirogue  for 
the  spying  out  of  our  bayous.  Burn  !  Burn ! 
Burn  !  "  And  even  while  the  bell  in  old  Christ 
Church  belfry  spelled  out  into  the  air  the  precon- 
certed warning  that  the  forts  at  the  river  mouth 
had  fallen  and  Farragut  was  well  on  his  way  to- 
ward the  city  with  his  fleet,  frenzied  hands  had 
heaped  upon  the  levee  the  priceless  contents  of 


4  THE  PRICE  OF  SILENCE 

sugar-warehouse  and  cotton-shed,  storehouse  and 
magasin,  and  set  torch  to  barrel,  hogshead,  and 
bale.  By  the  light  of  these  leaping  flames,  gun- 
boats, cutters,  steamboats,  flatboats,  canoes  were 
fired.  Even  now,  as  the  pelting  rain  trampled 
a  last  spurt  of  smoke  from  the  ashes,  the  Con- 
federate States  gunboat,  the  Mississippi,  swept 
majestically  down  the  stream,  a  towering  wraith 
of  flame,  to  meet  the  Federal  fleet  dawning  into 
view  around  Slaughterhouse  Bend,  stately,  sin- 
ister, terrible. 

The  great  mob  on  the  levee  fell  silent.  Small 
wonder,  by  the  way,  that  the  streets  of  the  city 
were  deserted !  Here  were  the  men,  —  for  the 
most  part  old  men  and  boys ;  vigorous  man- 
hood had  long  ago  followed  the  call  of  trumpet 
and  drum  to  the  front.  They  stared  —  motion- 
less, like  men  turned  to  stone  —  at  the  approach- 
ing ships.  Suddenly  an  unearthly,  shuddering 
groan  rent  the  air.  It  came  from  the  Confed- 
erate cutter  Washington,  lying  off  the  wharf. 
She  turned  heavily  on  her  side,  quivered  as  if 
racked  by  some  internal  convulsion,  reared, 
dripping,  groaned  a  second  time,  and  plunged 
headlong  into  the  yellow  flood.  The  downward- 


PROLOGUE:   A  DOMICILIARY  VISIT    5 

sucking  waters  closed  swirling  over  her  masts. 
To  many  a  graybeard  there  this  portent  of  evil 
brought  the  chill  of  impending  ruin ;  it  broke 
for  all  the  spell  of  numb  silence.  They  surged, 
swaying  and  jostling,  with  upturned  arms  and 
clenched  fists,  to  the  edge  of  the  levee,  and 
burst  into  a  prolonged  howl  of  rage,  —  hoarse, 
primitive,  like  the  bellow  of  some  titanic  animal. 
The  grim  gunners  on  Farragut's  flagship,  the 
Hartford,  looked  over,  as  she  swung  to  her 
moorings,  into  a  sea  of  livid  faces,  glaring  eye- 
balls which  spat  flames,  open  mouths  which 
vomited  curses,  trembling  chins  which  wagged 
impotent  imprecations. 

The  women,  huddled  behind  closed  doors  in  the 
French  Quarter,  in  the  Garden  District,  in  all  the 
length  and  breadth  of  the  town,  heard  the  echo 
of  that  first  anguished,  helpless  roar;  then  a 
fierce,  exultant  cry  which  was  shouted  from  quar- 
ter to  quarter,  from  street  to  street,  from  door 
to  door,  until  the  crescent  vibrated  from  horn 
to  horn  with  its  triumph :  "  Bless  Gawd ! 
Moses  has  fetched  his  people  th'oo.  Freedom! 
Freedom !  De  Yankees  is  come !  "  And  the  lis- 
teners, pale  and  tearless,  behind  closed  doors, 


6  THE  PRICE  OF  SILENCE 

fell   on   their   knees,   and   clasped    their   little 
daughters  to  their  breasts,  and  prayed. 

The  rain  ceased;  the  sun  shone  out  with 
mocking  brilliancy. 

A  fortnight  later  the  old  Town  by  the  River, 
the  scene  of  so  many  and  such  romantic  episodes 
in  times  past,  was  once  more  gay  with  flags. 
Again  there  were  flash  of  uniform  and  glitter  of 
sword-hilt  on  boulevard  and  banquette.  The  terse 
challenge  of  sentry  and  guard  was  setting  loose 
the  echoes  in  ancient  courtyards  and  mysterious 
corridors ;  couriers  dashed  back  and  forth ;  the 
steady  tread  of  marching  feet  resounded.  But 
the  flags  which  blossomed  upon  flagstaff  and 
balcony,  and  here  and  there  stretched  —  for 
reasons  of  state !  —  sheer  across  the  streets,  were 
the  stars  and  stripes;  the  red-and-white  of  the 
Southern  Confederacy  was  forbidden  even  to  the 
bonnet  and  the  parasol  of  great  lady  and  market- 
woman.  The  uniforms  where  gray  had  been  were 
blue ;  and  in  lieu  of  the  happy-go-lucky  strains 
of  "Dixie  Land,"  the  more  conventional  notes  of 
"The  Star  Spangled  Banner"  smote  upon  ears 
which  grew  red  with  indignation  at  the  sound. 


PROLOGUE:   A  DOMICILIARY  VISIT     7 

Butler's  Reign  of  Terror  had  begun ;  already  his 
infamous  sobriquet  was  in  whispered  circulation. 
The  "  Yankees  "  lounged  and  clanked,  after  the 
manner  of  soldiers,  about  the  barracks  vacated  by 
their  "  rebel "  foes.  The  Provost  Marshal  had 
already  begun  those  domiciliary  visits  whose  mem- 
ory lingers  unpleasantly  still  in  many  a  house- 
hold in  New  Orleans.  Already  the  "Yankee" 
flag  was  so  hung  here  and  there  that  the  women 
might  not,  by  stepping  into  the  street,  avoid 
passing  beneath  its  hated  folds.  Already  houses 
were  being  confiscated,  and  their  owners,  men  and 
women  alike,  sent  into  exile,  or,  if  recalcitrant, 
into  prison.  Already  the  freed  slaves,  insolently 
lording  it,  when  possible,  over  their  former  mas- 
ters and  mistresses,  were  adding  to  the  confusion 
and  disorder  which  seethed  beneath  the  hard  sur- 
face of  martial  law. 

But  of  these  last  many  remained  loyal  to  their 
"  white  folks,"  maintaining  their  loyalty  in  the 
snarling  teeth  of  their  own  race  and  amid  the  jeers 
of  their  liberators.  One  such,  a  mulatto  woman 
about  twenty-five  years  of  age,  passed  swiftly  up 
Canal  Street  from  the  Custom  House  one  morn- 
ing early  in  the  May  following  the  arrival  of  the 


8  THE  PRICE   OF  SILENCE 

Federal  fleet,  and  turned  into  Rue  Royale.  She 
threw  furtive  looks  over  her  shoulder  as  she 
walked,  and  paid  no  heed  to  the  ribald  compli- 
ments and  unseemly  jests  of  the  soldiers  idling 
along  the  banquette.  She  paused  at  length  before 
an  immense  batten  door  below  Toulouse  Street, 
stood  for  a  moment  breathless  in  its  embrasure, 
then  pulled  the  bell  once  and  again,  allowing  a 
short  interval  to  elapse  between  the  two  rings. 
The  faint  tinkling  within  had  not  fully  ceased 
when,  darting  a  hasty  look  up  and  down  the 
street,  she  unlocked  the  gate  with  a  key  drawn 
from  her  bosom,  opened  it,  and  stepped  in,  clos- 
ing the  green  valve  behind  her. 

The  sharp  sound  of  the  gate-bell  jarred  the 
tense  silence  which  pervaded  the  library  of  the 
de  Laussan  mansion.  Madame  de  Laussan,  stand- 
ing by  the  massive  library  table  supporting  her- 
self with  a  hand  grasping  its  edge,  listened  anx- 
iously for  the  prearranged  second  ring,  and  for 
the  opening  and  shutting  of  the  street  door ; 
then  turned,  with  a  look  of  relief  on  her  pale 
face,  to  her  son.  Pierre  de  Laussan,  a  lad  of  six- 
teen, stood  facing  his  mother,  his  young  brow  as 
pale,  his  lips  as  firmly  set,  as  her  own. 


PROLOGUE:   A  DOMICILIARY  VISIT    9 

They  were  strikingly  alike,  Madame  de  Laus- 
san  and  her  son,  her  only  child.  She  looked,  in 
the  bloom  of  her  beauty,  scarce  older  than  the 
lad;  she  was,  indeed,  a  little  more  than  double 
his  age.  There  were  the  same  dark  eyes  beneath 
straight  black  eyebrows,  the  same  proud  mouth 
and  rounded  though  determined  chin,  the  same 
white,  even  teeth  and  flashing  smile,  the  same 
black  uncurling  hair  —  only  Pierre's  thick  locks 
were  cut  close  to  his  shapely  head.  The  braids 
which  crowned  the  mother's  brow  were  marvel- 
ously  thick  and  heavy ;  the  locks  fell,  when 
unbound,  to  her  feet.  (At  this  writing,  though 
Madame  is  hard  upon  eighty,  her  long  and 
abundant  tresses,  silver-white,  are  the  wonder 
and  admiration  of  the  Vieux  Carre.) 

Madame  de  Laussan  resumed  her  admonition. 
She  spoke  with  an  effort;  the  hand  grasping 
the  edge  of  the  table  shook.  "  My  son,"  she  con- 
tinued, "  I  can  no  longer  withhold  my  consent. 
I  give  you,  as  I  have  already  given  your  father, 
to  the  Southern  Confederacy.  You  will,  young  as 
you  are,  show  yourself  the  true  son  of  that  brave 
father ;  you  will  prove  yourself  worthy  of  the 
high  name  you  bear  and  of  the  gallant  men  who 


10  THE  PRICE  OF  SILENCE 

have  borne  it  before  you  ;  you  will  —  Oh,  Pierre, 
my  boy,  my  boy  ! "  The  mother  welling  up  from 
the  depths  of  an  agonized  heart  effaced  the  patriot. 
"How  can  I  send  you  away  from  me  !  How  —  " 

"  Mother !  "  What  the  lad  would  have  said 
remained  unspoken.  The  mulattress  burst  into 
the  room,  hurling  herself  forward,  and  dropped, 
panting,  at  the  feet  of  Madame  de  Laussan. 

"  Little  mistress ! "  she  gasped  in  a  sharp 
whisper,  "they  —  are  —  coming  —  the  Provost 
Guard  —  to  search  the  house  —  for  Master  — 
Pierre ! " 

She  spoke,  like  the  others,  in  French,  though 
with  a  curiously  soft,  slurring  accent. 

"But  —  Sirene —  "  stammered  her  mistress, 
throwing  a  terrified  glance  toward  the  door. 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  "  demanded  Pierre 
sternly,  stooping  to  seize  the  woman's  wrist 
with  an  accusing  hand. 

"  Hush,  Pierre,"  interrupted  his  mother,  assist- 
ing the  f reedwoman  gently  to  her  feet.  "  I 
would  stake  my  life  on  Sirene' s  fidelity." 

Sirene  lifted  grateful  eyes  to  the  speaker. 

"Listen,  'tite  maitresse,"  she  implored;  "there 
is  not  one  moment  to  lose.  They  are  coming  — 


PROLOGUE:   A  DOMICILIARY  VISIT     11 

the  guard  —  on  the  instant.  It  is  Hercule  who 
has  sent  me  to  tell  you ;  Hercule,  who  is  himself 
a  guide  to  that  guard — the  traitor.  They  will 
search  the  house,  Hercule  says ;  they  will  take 
Master  Pierre  away  to — >to  prison  —  " 

"  Pierre  ! "  Madame  de  Laussan  sprang  for- 
ward to  strain  her  son  convulsively  to  her 
bosom ;  then  she  thrust  him  frantically  from 
her.  "  Go,  go,  my  son.  No,  oh,  no,  stay ! 
Escape  is  impossible.  Better  prison  than  to  be 
shot  in  the  attempt  to  fly  these  bloodthirsty 
monsters.  Remain  here  at  my  side.  I  command 
you!" 

"  Mother,  dear  mother ! "  He  soothed  her  with 
a  caressing  hand.  "I  shall  get  away,  and  safely, 
never  fear.  And  when  you  next  hear  from  me," 
he  added  with  boyish  exultation,  "  I  shall  be  in 
the  ranks,  a  Confederate  soldier,  like  my  father." 
He  threw  himself  a  last  time  into  her  arms, 
touched  Sirene's  shoulder  with  an  affectionate 
palm,  and  turned  toward  the  door.  But  he 
darted  back  to  snatch  from  its  place  above  the 
mantel  a  sword  whose  jeweled  hilt  sparkled  in 
the  sunlight  falling  upon  it  from  the  open 
window. 


12  THE  PRICE  OF  SILENCE 

"I  am  going  to  hide  this,"  he  declared.  "I 
cannot  take  it  away  with  me,  but  whatever  else 
they  may  lay  their  hands  upon,  they  shall  not 
defile  with  so  much  as  a  touch  this  sword." 

His  mother's  terrified  whisper  of  warning  sent 
him  flying  from  the  room.  The  heavy  portiere 
as  he  lifted  it  revealed  a  stately  hall  beyond,  with 
thickly  carpeted  stairway  upon  which  his  hurried 
feet  left  no  trace,  and  which  gave  back  no  echo. 

Madame  de  Laussan  bounded  back  to  her 
place,  and  laid  her  hand  for  support  once  more 
on  the  table.  She  motioned  the  mulattress  to 
approach.  "  You  must  not  be  seen  here  —  with 
me,  Sirene,"  she  whispered.  "You  will  be  sus- 
pected of  —  disloyalty  to  your  —  deliverers.  Save 
yourself,  dear  Sirene,  and  may  the  Holy  Virgin 
smile  upon  you  for  what  you  have  done  this  day 
for  my  boy.  Tried  to  do."  She  corrected  her- 
self with  pale  lips.  Sirene  stooped  to  lift  the 
hem  of  her  mistress's  gown  to  her  lips,  and 
stepped  without  a  word  a  little  to  the  rear,  where 
she  stood  with  arms  folded  across  her  breast,  her 
fine  face  impassive  below  the  brightly  colored 
tignon,  her  dark  eyes  filled  with  smouldering 
flames. 


PROLOGUE:   A  DOMICILIARY  VISIT    13 

To  the  loud,  imperative  hammering-  on  the 
batten  gate  below  had  succeeded  a  crash,  as  of 
a  breaking  lock,  and  a  rush  of  heavy  feet  along 
the  flagged  porte  cochere.  Now  a  steady  tramp 
echoed  on  the  winding  stair  without.  A  moment 
later,  Lieutenant  Sidney  Cortland,  U.  S.  A.,  en- 
tered the  library  in  a  sort  of  angry  haste.  He 
was  followed  immediately  by  a  squad  of  United 
States  soldiers.  Hercule,  the  guide,  a  huge  mus- 
cular griffe,  —  ten  days  earlier  the  body-servant  of 
Pierre  de  Laussan,  —  stepped  in  after  them.  He 
threw  an  indifferent  glance  around,  and  stood 
impassive  as  Sirene  herself. 

At  sight  of  the  beautiful,  pale  women  confront- 
ing him,  Cortland,  a  fair,  florid  young  man  with 
pale-blue,  unsteady  eyes  and  a  handsome,  weak 
mouth,  paused  involuntarily  and  removed  his  hat. 
His  men  stared  boldly  and  insolently  at  mistress 
and  maid. 

"  Madame  de  Laussan  ?  "  queried  the  officer, 
consulting  the  slip  of  paper  which  he  drew  from 
his  belt. 

Madame  de  Laussan  inclined  her  head  haugh- 
tily. 

"  —  the  wife  of  Nemours  de  Laussan  —  " 


14  THE  PRICE  OF  SILENCE 

"  The  wife  of  Colonel  Nemours  de  Laussan  of 
the  Confederate  States  Army,  in  command  of 
the  — th  Louisiana  regiment  of  infantry."  She 
spoke  in  a  clear,  ringing  voice,  and  in  English 
of  unusual  purity. 

Cortland  reddened,  but  dropped  his  eyes  to 
the  paper  and  continued  :  "  You  have  a  son  —  " 

"  Pierre  Nemours  de  Laussan,  yes,  monsieur. 
On  his  way  at  this  moment  to  enter  the  Confed- 
erate States  Army,"  interrupted  Madame  de  Laus- 
san. Her  dark,  flashing  eyes  were  full  upon  her 
inquisitor;  but  between  him  and  her  there  seemed 
to  float  a  slim  figure,  with  sword  uplifted,  bared 
head  up-thrown,  the  young  face  flushed  with 
enthusiasm.  Her  ears  were  strained  toward  the 
hall,  the  stairway,  the  upper  chambers.  She  did 
not  even  see,  as  Sirene,  alert  behind  her  bronze 
mask,  saw,  the  crafty  guide  —  late  the  valet  of 
Pierre  de  Laussan  —  glide  stealthily  along  the 
wall  and  disappear  behind  the  heavy  folds  of  the 
portiere. 

"That's  a  lie,"  growled  the  sergeant  of  the 
guard  half  under  his  breath.  "  The  young  spy 
is  somewhere  about  this  house.  Our  own  spies 
have  been  at  his  heels  for  a  week.  He 's  in  this 


PROLOGUE:  A  DOMICILIARY  VISIT    15 

house  !  "  His  fox-like  eyes  subtly  threatened  his 
superior  officer  as  he  spoke.  Cortland  winced. 

"I  regret  to  say,  madam,"  he  stammered, 
"  that  we  shall  have  to  search  the  house  —  " 

"  Hell ! "  muttered  the  sergeant,  grinning 
openly.  "  Are  we  the  Provost  Guard,  or  are  we 
French  dancing-masters  ?  " 

"Pierre  de  Laussan  is  accused  of  furnishing 
treasonable  information  to  the  enemy.  Also  —  " 

"  You  may  spare  yourself  —  and  me — the  de- 
tails of  the  work  of  your  spies,"  said  Madame 
de  Laussan  disdainfully ;  "  they  do  not  interest 
me.  As  for  the  search,  I  am  at  once  a  woman 
and  defenseless,  while  you,  a  Yankee  officer, 
have  the  assistance  of  these — gentlemen." 

She  swept  to  the  floor  in  an  ironical  curtsy, 
her  contemptuous  glance  embracing  Cortland  and 
his  men. 

Stung  to  the  quick,  Cortland  wheeled  about 
and  gave  the  necessary  orders  to  his  soldiers  in 
a  curt  voice  whose  echoes  rang  strangely  through 
the  silent  house.  He  himself  led  the  way,  lifting 
the  portiere  as  Pierre  had  done  half  an  hour 
earlier. 

Neither  mistress  nor  maid  stirred  from  her 


16  THE  PRICE  OF  SILENCE 

place  when  the  squad  had  filed  out,  leaving  two 
of  their  number  on  guard.  These  seated  them- 
selves familiarly  in  the  great  armchairs  on  either 
side  of  the  fireplace,  and  enlivened  the  tedium 
of  their  waiting  with  the  coarse  laughter  and  the 
coarser  jests  of  the  guardroom.  Madame  de 
Laussan  stood  rigid,  outwardly  calm,  absolutely 
heedless  of  allusions  which  grew  more  and 
more  unfit  for  the  ears,  happily  deaf  to  all 
outer  sound,  as  the  great,  anguished  eyes  were 
blind  to  all  outer  vision.  Later,  there  surged  into 
her  memory,  as  if  from  some  half -forgotten  dream, 
the  face  of  the  griffe,  Hercule.  Was  there  mean- 
ing in  the  rapid  glance  he  threw  her  as  he  slipped 
from  behind  the  portiere  and  mounted  the  stair  in 
the  wake  of  the  intruders? 

A  burst  of  strident  laughter  presently  awoke 
the  little  Mathilde,  niece  and  adoptive  daughter 
of  Madame  de  Laussan.  The  two-year-old  child, 
who  had  slept  peacefully  thus  far  through  the 
unwonted  confusion,  screamed  loudly.  Sirene 
flew  to  her  nursling,  lifted  her  from  the  sofa 
where  she  was  lying,  soothed  her  into  quiet  with 
tender,  inarticulate  murmurings,  and  then  resumed 
her  post  beside  her  mistress. 


PROLOGUE:   A  DOMICILIARY  VISIT     17 

The  house,  after  the  Provost  Guard  had 
finally  departed  laden  with  plunder,  presented  a 
scene  o£  wild  confusion :  the  contents  of  ar- 
moires  and  cabinets  were  flung  about ;  drawers 
and  closets,  rifled  of  their  treasures,  remained 
open ;  fragments  of  crystal  and  china  strewed 
the  floor  of  the  dining-room ;  buffets  were  stripped 
of  ancestral  silver.  Madame  de  Laussan  surveyed 
the  wreck  with  shining  eyes  ;  her  hands  were 
clasped  in  an  ecstasy  of  thankfulness. 

"  It  is  nothing,  Sirene,"  she  cried.  "  My  Pierre, 
thanks  to  Hercule,  is  safe,  somewhere,  somehow. 
You  are  unharmed.  What  matters  the  rest !  " 

Nevertheless  a  troubled  frown  furrowed  her 
white  brow  when,  order  somewhat  restored,  look- 
ing over  the  scattered  debris  from  her  private 
desk,  she  noted  the  absence  of  a  certain  small 
casket.  It  had  been  appropriated,  doubtless, 
for  its  own  odd  beauty,  since  it  contained 
nothing  of  great  intrinsic  value,  —  two  or  three 
family  rings  only,  an  ornament  or  two,  and  a 
single  letter.  Madame  de  Laussan  made,  through 
Union  friends,  futile  efforts  to  recover  the  box ; 
she  employed  Hercule,  the  crafty,  to  find  if  pos- 
sible its  present  possessor,  and  to  bargain  for  its 


18  THE  PRICE  OF  SILENCE 

return.  But  it  had  disappeared,  with  other  arti- 
cles of  more  value.  The  de  Laussan  diamonds, 
famed  for  their  splendor  and  magnificence,  safe 
in  their  hiding-place,  had  fortunately  escaped  the 
greedy  eyes  of  the  guard. 

Pierre's  first  letter,  smuggled  in,  came  a 
month  later.  It  related  the  story  of  the  writer's 
escape  —  by  the  aid  of  Hercule  —  over  the 
roofs  into  the  house  of  a  non-suspect ;  after- 
ward through  the  lines  into  the  Confederacy ;  it 
told  in  buoyant  strain  of  his  enlistment  in  his 
father's  command,  and  of  the  stirring  scenes 
which  were  enacting  about  him.  The  brief  post- 
script ran :  "  The  Lafayette  sword  is  in  a  safe 
hiding-place  there  at  home.  We  will  hang  it 
upon  the  wall  again,  you  and  I,  mother,  when 
the  war  is  over,  and  Johnny  comes  marching 
home." 

There  came  no  second  letter  from  the  young 
volunteer;  he  fell,  shot  through  the  head,  in  a 
nameless  skirmish  less  than  a  month  after 
Madame  de  Laussan  pressed  to  her  lips  the 
faded  wayside  flower  enclosed  in  the  first  letter. 
Colonel  de  Laussan  died  in  hospital  of  wounds 
received  in  battle  in  the  spring  of  1863.  Father 


MADAME    DE    LAUSSAN 


PROLOGUE:   A  DOMICILIARY  VISIT    19 

and  son,  their  sacred  dust  brought  back  after 
the  war  to  their  native  state,  sleep  side  by  side 
in  the  stately  tomb  of  thefamille  de  Laussan, 
in  the  old  St.  Louis  Cemetery  at  New  Orleans. 


II 

MATIN 

A  HUGE  spider,  bloated,  venomous,  swung 
slowly  earthward,  —  from  nowhere,  appar- 
ently, for  only  the  frail  tip  of  a  twig  on  the 
crepe  myrtle  interposed  between  him  and  upper 
aerial  space.  He  paid  out  jerkily  the  silver  rope 
by  which  he  descended.  His  furry  body  brushed, 
in  passing,  the  back  of  Noemie's  hand ;  his  up- 
curled  legs  instantly  shot  out ;  they  effected  a 
foothold  a  second  later  on  her  knee,  whence  he 
began  to  mount,  high-stepping,  along  her  white 
skirts.  She  shook  him  off  with  a  shriek  of  girlish 
terror,  and  looked  on  breathless  while  the  negro 
gardener  pursued  the  fleeing  monster  across  the 
flags  and  crushed  him  with  a  heavy  foot. 

" Matin :  chagrin"  she  chanted,  picking  up 
the  garden-shears  which  she  had  let  fall  in  her 
fright,  and  snipping  bud  and  blossom  into  the 
open  basket  on  her  arm.  "Matin:  chagrin. 
Midi:  ennui.  Le  soir :  espoir." 


MATIN  21 

"What  do  dat  mean,  you  is  singin',  Miss 
No-mee  ?  "  queried  the  old  negro,  leaning  on  his 
spade  to  listen.  "  Seem-lak  I  useter  hear  dat 
song,  in  de  time  —  " 

The  girl  brightened.  "  Maybe  you  heard  my 
mother  sing  it,  Uncle  Mink.  Dans  le  temps" 
she  returned.  "  Sirene  taught  it  to  me.  Sirene 
was  also  my  mother's  bonne.  It  is  I'augure  de 
Varaignee,  —  the  presage  of  the  spider.  In  Eng- 
lish it  would  go  something  like  this  :  — 

"  Spider  in  the  morning :  Of  trouble  the  warning. 
Spider  at  noon :  Satiety  soon. 
Spider  at  eve :  Hope  and  believe." 

"  Lawd,  honey,  you  certing  has  got  it  pintedly 
down ! "  admired  Uncle  Mink.  "  'T  ain't  edzackly 
cun  jer  —  dat  spider-song ;  but  it 's  sompin'  Idk 
cunjer.  Spiders,"  he  added  thoughtfully,  "is 
gener-ally  in  cunjerin'." 

The  courtyard  of  the  de  Laussan  mansion  was 
filled  with  the  soft  glow  of  a  sunny  November 
morning.  The  tall  bananas  shading  the  foun- 
tain-pool set  the  rustle  of  their  fringed  leaves  to 
a  light  breeze  which  blew  up  from  the  river  and 
whiffled  down  the  porte  cochere,  whose  batten 
gate  stood  open  to  the  street.  There  were  cones 


22  THE  PRICE   OF  SILENCE 

of  white  bells  here  and  there  among  the  Spanish 
daggers  which  leaned  out  at  all  angles  from  the 
foot  of  the  north  wall;  a  crepe  myrtle,  on  the 
high  bricked-up  bed  against  the  south  wall  held 
aloft  belated  tufts  of  rosy  bloom ;  the  slim, 
naked  trunk  slanted  silver-gray  against  a  back- 
ground of  moss-patched  stucco. 

"  It  reminds  me,  somehow,  that  crepe  myrtle," 
mused  Noemie  aloud,  brushing  from  her  hand 
the  spider's  filmy  broken  rope,  "  of  a  grey- 
hound." 

"  Reckon  hit  is  a  greh-houn',"  remarked  the 
old  negro.  "  Tree  by  day,  houn'  by  night.  Yas'm. 
Mars  Dick  useter  tell  about  a  houn'-dawg  tu'nin' 
into  a  tree.  Gaze  he  bark'  at  a  young  lady  whar 
was  in  swimmin'  in  Little  Otter  Creek."  The 
latter  part  of  this  curious  jumble  of  classic  myths, 
with  innovations,  was  chuckled  by  the  narrator 
under  his  breath. 

The  roses  in  the  garden-court  were  all  old- 
fashioned:  Gloire  de  Dijon,  Cloth  of  Gold,  Blush- 
cluster,  San  guinea,  Lamasque,  and  the  like ;  the 
prim  flower  beds  were  bordered  with  violets  and 
Star-of-Bethlehem ;  there  was  a  lavender-bush  in 
one  corner,  and  a  mint  bed  behind  the  tall,  taper- 


MATIN  23 

ing  green  cistern.  "  Mars  Dick  planted  dem  ar 
yerbs  hisse'f  —  fer  yo'  ma,"  said  Uncle  Mink, 
straightening  his  bent  back  and  pointing  a  rusty 
forefinger  vaguely  about.  "  He  f otch  de  fust 
roots  f'um  Ole  Virginny  wher  we  was  bawn." 
Noemie  had  heard  this  statement  at  frequent 
intervals  ever  since  she  could  remember ;  but  it 
seemed  forever  new;  it  called  up  each  time  an 
enchanting  vision  of  the  dead  father,  dimly  pre- 
sent to  her  memory,  and  of  the  beautiful  young 
mother,  known  to  her  bodily  eyes  only  by  the 
portrait  above  the  library  mantel.  She  seemed  to 
see  the  two  together,  stooping  —  always  in  the 
morning  sunlight  —  to  set  in  moist  alien  earth 
the  homely  slips  which  were  to  remind  the  Vir- 
ginian of  his  birthplace. 

"Becaze,"  continued  Uncle  Mink,  according 
to  custom,  "  I  come  into  yo'  fambly  'long  o'  yo' 
pa,  honey.  F'um  Virginny." 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  cried  the  young  girl,  her  lips 
parted  eagerly,  her  smoke-blue  eyes  begging  for 
more. 

"  You  is  de  spi't  'n  image  of  Miss  Mah-teel, 
chile,  —  clar  to  goodness,  you  is,  —  yaller  hair 
an'  all.  An'  dem  eyes  o'  yo'n  !  Lawd,  yo'  ma's 


24  THE  PRICE   OF  SILENCE 

eyes  over  agin.  Mars  Dick  useter  say  dat  Miss 
Mah-teel's  eyes  was  lak  de  kiver  mist  over  de 
Blue  Ridge  Mountains  in  fall-o-th'-year,  sof'-lak, 
an*  color  o'  smoke  when  blue  sky  shines  th'oo. 
Yas'm." 

Noemie  Carrington  had  indeed  inherited  from 
Mathilde  de  Laussan,  her  mother,  the  crinkly, 
pale-gold  tresses  which  waved  and  rippled  above 
her  white  forehead,  her  clear,  fair,  colorless  skin, 
her  red  lips,  and  her  gray-blue  eyes ;  Richard  Car- 
rington had  given  to  his  only  child  the  buoyant 
slenderness  of  figure,  the  alert  elasticity  of  motion, 
the  patrician  carriage  of  the  women  of  his  race. 
She  had  almost  the  look  of  an  alien  among  her 
dark-haired,  velvet-eyed,  softly-rounded,  slow- 
gliding  Creole  kinswomen. 

"  She  is  a  de  Laussan  —  and  a  Destrehan  — 
all  the  same,"  triumphed  Madame  de  Laussan, 
noting  with  delight  from  time  to  time  some  well- 
known  or  half-forgotten  family  peculiarity  that 
showed  itself  in  the  child,  the  sole  direct  descend- 
ant of  that  dashing  de  Laussan  who  came  over 
from  France  to  the  Province  of  Louisiana  with 
the  great  Bienville,  and  who,  like  more  than  one 
of  his  line,  —  like  Nemours  de  Laussan  himself, 


MATIN  25 

—  had  married  a  Destrehan,  a  descendant  of  his 
own  brother-at-arms. 

Noemie  rested  her  basket  on  the  ancient  sun- 
dial, and  stretched  her  arms,  bared  to  the  elbows, 
above  her  head.  "I  did  not  know  that  roses 
could  be  so  heavy  !  "  she  laughed. 

Uncle  Mink  dropped  his  spade  with  a  clatter, 
"  Wher  is  dat  no-count  nigger-gal?  "  he  growled. 
"Ole  Babe!  0-o-le  B-a-a-a-be!"  He  lifted  his 
mellow  voice  in  a  sonorous  cry  which  re- 
echoed about  the  court.  A  negro  girl  about  ten 
years  old  came,  in  a  noiseless  sort  of  jog-trot, 
through  the  wide  gateway  which  opened  upon  a 
smaller  inner  court.  She  was  surprisingly  black, 
with  egg-shaped  eyes  whose  large,  yellow  pupils 
swam  in  a  sea  of  bluish- white,  a  wide  mouth 
perpetually  opened  in  a  perpetual  grin,  showing 
fence-like  rows  of  even,  white  teeth,  a  flat  nose, 
and  a  bulging  forehead.  The  egg-shaped  eyes 
twinkled  with  an  intelligence  almost  uncanny; 
when  their  lids  were  down  and  the  grin  in  eclipse, 
an  air  of  stupidity  not  to  be  described  sat  upon 
her  face. 

"  You  triflin'  limb  o'  Satan,"  growled  Uncle 
Mink,  "  why  'n't  you  heah  to  tote  yo'  young  mis- 


26  THE  PRICE   OF  SILENCE 

tess's  rose-basket  into  the  gret-house  ?  Miss  No- 
wee,  dis  is  Ole  Babe,  one  o'  my  gals.  She  ain't 
nothin'  but  a  plantation-nigger  yit.  But  she 
gwine  to  be  handy,  ef  she  git  the  strop.  I  brung 
her  down  f'um  Lady's  Rule  to  fetch  an'  carry 
fer  Si-reen.  Si-reen's  gittin'  ole.  Hmp.  'Bout 
a  hunderd,  I  spec." 

"Old  Babe?"  Noe'mie  looked  down  at  the 
queer  little  figure  standing  at  her  knee.  "  But 
what  is  your  name,  child?  Your  real  name?" 

"  Dess  Ole  Babe,  li'l  miss,"  drawled  Sirene's 
assistant,  shaking  her  head  until  the  string- 
wrapped  pigtails  stood  on  end ;  "  de  twinses,  dey 
come,"  —  she  indicated  a  pair  of  copper-hued 
pickaninnies  clawing  at  her  guinea-blue  skirt,  — 
"an'  den  dey  was  de  baby,  an'  /  hatter  git 
out'n  de  way.  So  dey  called  me  Ole  Babe." 

She  ducked  her  head,  beat  off  the  twins  with 
a  skillful  hand,  seized  the  basket,  poised  it  on 
her  head,  and  trotted  off. 

"  And  these  are  twins.  Yours,  Uncle  Mink  ? 
Dear  me,  I  didn't  know  you  had  twins." 

"  T'ree  pa'r,  li'l  miss.  Yas'm.  Dese  two  is  gal 
an'  boy.  Ar-the-lia  an'  Sun-boy.  I  fotch  'im 
down  f'um  Lady's  Rule  yestiddy,  to  stay  long 


MATIN  27 

o'  Ole  Babe  ontel  my  bride  kin  git  ready  fer  de 
weddin'." 

"  Oh,  Uncle  Mink  !  "  cried  Noemie,  suppress- 
ing a  giggle.  "You  surely  are  not  going  to  get 
married  again" 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  is,  honey,"  returned  the  grizzled 
veteran  promptly.  "  De  Good  Book  say  it  ain't 
good  fer  man  to  live  erlone.  I  follers  de  Holy 
Scripchers.  I  ain't  nuver  live'  erlone ;  I  done 
had  fo'  -wives.  Viny,  she 's  onder  groun' ;  de 
yethers  dey  —  all  quit.  But  I  keeps  de  chillen' 
mo'  or  less.  Yas  'm.  De  bride,  dis  time,  is  Li'l 
Hannah ;  you  'member  Li'l  Hannah,  Miss  No- 
mee?  Big  Hannah's  gal,  at  Lady's  Rule.  Li'l 
Hannah's  jes'  tu'ned  o'  fifteen.  Oh,  I  always 
takes  'em  young,"  he  hastened  to  add,  in  response 
to  an  inarticulate  remonstrance  from  his  young 
mistress.  "  Dey  bites  an'  dey  scratches  mo',  but 
dey  tames  mo'  easier  dan  ole  ones.  Yas  'm.  Dey 
tames  mo'  easier." 

The  bell  on  the  street  door  rang ;  its  clear, 
silvery  tinkle  broke  upon  the  old  man's  droning 
monologue ;  the  light  echo  rode  airily  upon 
the  lower-keyed,  indrifting  sound-waves  from  the 
street.  A  quick  tread  sounded  along  the  paved 


28  THE   PRICE  OF  SILENCE 

corridor.  Sidney  Cortland,  advancing,  looked 
through  the  vaulted  arch  which  framed  a  vista  of 
the  courtyard,  where  the  slim,  white-clad  figure  of 
Mademoiselle  Carrington  was  outlined  against  the 
round  of  a  mandarin  orange  tree,  glossy-green  in 
its  painted  tub.  He  experienced  again  the  sensa- 
tion which  had  possessed  him  that  April  morning 
some  months  earlier,  when  he  had  passed  for 
the  first  time  down  the  dim-lighted  porte  cochere 
of  the  de  Laussan  mansion.  It  had  seemed  to  him 
then,  as  it  did  now,  that  he  had  in  some  previous 
existence  traversed  the  same  alley,  hearing  as  he 
walked  the  same  ripple  of  yellow  Mississippi 
River  water  in  the  stone  troughway  at  the  foot 
of  the  wall ;  feeling  in  his  face  warm  puffs  of 
wind  from  the  courtyard,  with  the  scent  upon 
them  of  blossoms  hitherto  unknown  to  him,  — 
sweet-olive,  jasmin  du  Cap,  opoponax  ;  divining 
rather  than  hearing,  in  the  great  rooms  above, 
the  mysterious  movements  of  a  life  and  a  people 
to  whose  very  tongue  he  was  a  stranger. 

It  was  natural  enough,  this  sensation.  Even 
as  a  boy,  the  story  of  the  old,  foreign-looking 
house  in  the  ancient  foreign  quarter  of  the  far- 
away Southern  city  had  fascinated  him,  falling 


MATIN  29 

from  the  lips  of  his  father,  —  Sidney  Cortland, 
ex-colonel  of  the  United  States  Army.  The 
beautiful,  pale  chatelaine  with  the  disdainful  eyes 
and  the  scornful  mouth;  the  tall  slave-woman, 
a  piece  of  living  bronze,  in  her  sombre  skirts  and 
plaided  tignon,  with  barbaric  hoops  of  gold  in 
her  ears  and  silver  bracelets  on  her  arms,  and 
voodoo  charms  about  her  neck;  the  blonde- 
haired  child  asleep  on  her  sofa;  the  high- 
ceilinged  room  with  its  rich,  dark  furniture,  the 
portraits  on  the  walls,  the  closed  cabinets  filled 
with  rare  trifles,  the  costly  hangings,  the  subdued 
carpets ;  —  all  this  had  been  woven,  as  it  were, 
into  the  web  of  his  childhood.  Later,  there  had 
crept  into  the  glamour  another  element;  this 
quickened  his  pulse  as  he  threw  a  glance  in 
passing  at  the  upward-leading  stairway,  sump- 
tuous in  its  breadth  and  in  its  delicately  wrought 
hand-rail  and  brass  newel-post.  It  brought  into 
his  eyes,  between  their  narrowing  lids,  a  look 
utterly  at  variance  with  his  singularly  quiet, 
contained  countenance.  The  look,  enigmatic, 
untranslatable,  might,  nevertheless,  have  con- 
veyed to  a  practiced  physiognomist  a  suggestion 
of  greed  intermingled  with  triumph. 


30  THE  PRICE   OF   SILENCE 

Miss  Carrington  greeted  her  visitor  with  a 
pleased  smile.  Cortland  bowed  gravely  over  the 
slim,  white  hand  extended  to  meet  his  own. 

"  Exit  the  convent-pupil ! "  he  said,  with  a  nod 
toward  the  house,  through  whose  wide-open 
arched  windows  could  be  seen  professional  deco- 
rators moving  methodically  about,  stringing 
electric  globes,  hanging  garlands,  laying  dancing- 
cloths,  grouping  palms  and  potted  plants. 

"Enter  Mademoiselle  de  Laussan  Carring- 
ton," she  flashed  back,  dropping  a  low  curtsy 
which  brought  to  his  inner  vision  a  swift  picture 
of  Madame  de  Laussan  mocking  Captain  Cort- 
land, U.  S.  A.,  with  her  rebel  skirts.  A  secure 
half-smile  stirred  his  lips.  "  Yes,  monsieur,  in  me 
you  behold  a  young  lady."  She  pronounced  it 
ycwg,  with  a  little  slur  over  the  consonants  which 
Cortlaud  found  delicious.  "To-night  I  make 
my  debut.  A  dinner  and  a  ball ;  and  myself  at 
the  very  heart  of  both.  Oh,  but  I  tremble.  I 
should  like  to  run  away ! " 

"  Good !  I  will  run  away  also  with  you,"  cried 
Cortland  in  a  stage  whisper,  feigning  to  inter- 
pose himself  between  the  debutante  and  the  stolid 
Uncle  Mink.  "  Let  us  start  at  once." 


MATIN  31 

"  On  the  instant,  monsieur !  "  He  drew  her, 
laughing,  in  and  out  of  the  maze  of  sweet-olive 
and  jessamine,  along  the  formal  walks,  around 
the  plant-girdled  fountain  pool. 

He  was  accounted  distinguished-looking  rather 
than  handsome,  this  son  of  the  officer  who  some 
forty  years  before  had,  on  one  occasion  at  least, 
commanded  Butler's  Provost  Guard  at  New  Or- 
leans. (The  fact  of  the  relationship,  it  need  hardly 
be  said,  remained  carefully  locked  in  the  breast 
of  the  younger  Cortland  ;  his  father's  name,  never 
known  to  Madame  de  Laussan,  had  upon  his 
departure  from  the  captured  city  dropped  into 
oblivion  there.)  His  tall,  well-proportioned  figure, 
slightly  inclined  to  heaviness,  was  apt  to  attract 
instant  notice ;  his  full,  pale  face,  in  spite  of  the 
mouth,  whose  short  upper  lip  indicated  weakness, 
conveyed  a  subtle  suggestion  of  power  ;  his  eyes, 
light  blue  beneath  heavy  black  eyebrows,  when 
not  narrowed  between  their  lids,  had  a  frank 
expression  which  invited  confidence. 

A  fortuitous  circumstance  had  given  him,  soon 
after  his  arrival  a  stranger  in  the  old  town,  the 
entrance,  ardently  desired,  into  the  de  Laussan 
house.  Madame  de  Laussan  one  morning,  de- 


32  THE   PRICE   OF  SILENCE 

scending  from  her  carriage,  crossed  the  drenched 
banquette  to  her  own  door ;  she  stepped  inadver- 
tently upon  a  loose  paving-stone,  stumbled,  and 
would  have  fallen  but  for  Cortland  who  chanced 
to  be  passing, — Cortland,  indeed,  had  spent  much 
time  already  in  passing  and  repassing  the  de  Laus- 
san  mansion.  He  caught  the  slight  form  of  his 
father's  long-ago  adversary  in  his  arms,  lifted 
her,  moaning  with  pain  from  a  twisted  ankle, 
and  bore  her  into  her  own  house.  Presentation 
later  by  a  club  acquaintance,  who  frankly  dis- 
claimed responsibility  for  the  stranger's  unknown 
antecedents,  completed,  somewhat  irregularly,  it 
is  true,  Cortland's  mastery  of  the  coveted  foot- 
hold. Thenceforward  he  wrought  patiently  and 
tactfully  to  win  the  favor  of  Madame  de  Laus- 
san,  who  was  usually  distrustful  of  all  "  out- 
siders." At  this  moment  he  felt  warranted  in 
congratulating  himself  on  his  success.  Miss  Car- 
rino-ton  regarded  him  with  a  friendliness  which. 

O  O  f 

he  knew,  caused  some  comment  among  the  other 
habitues  of  the  house.  Old  Sirene  muttered  spite- 
fully when  she  saw  this  Yon-^ee  —  all  unclassi- 
fied strangers  were  Yon-&ees  —  lounging  about 
the  chair  of  Madame  de  Laussan,  or  installed  on 


MATIN  33 

a  garden  bench  beside  Noemie.  She  refused  his 
proffered  gifts;  she  would  have  thrown  ihewanga 
on  him  had  she  dared.  She  gave  no  reason  for 
her  animosity ;  she  had  none  to  give  ! 

"  No  !  "  declared  Noemie,  breathless,  dropping 
upon  a  bench ;  "  on  second  thoughts,  I  shall  not 
run  away  —  to-day.  I  stay.  I  desire  to  see  with 
my  own  eyes  how  Miss  Carrington  will  con- 
duct herself  at  a  dinner  —  and  a  ball !  Still,  I 
am  horribly  afraid." 

"  You !  the  daughter  of  a  hundred  de  Laus- 
sans  and  Destrehans  !  "  jested  Cortland,  looking 
down  upon  her  flushed,  upturned  face.  "  You ! 
the  possessor  of  uncounted  thousands  !  the  heiress 
of  houses,  jewels,  sugar  plantations — "  His 
eyelids  were  unconsciously  narrowing. 

"  Oh,  that !  "  interrupted  Noemie  with  disdain. 

"  That !  "  echoed  Cortland,  instantly  normal 
again.  "  It  is  true,"  he  added,  "  that  Miss  Car- 
rington needs  neither  stainless  pedigree  nor  fabu- 
lous riches  to  make  her — 

"A  young  person  unused  to  flattery,"  fin- 
ished Noemie,  lifting  an  arch  forefinger  in  warn- 
ing. "  Jl  ce  soir,  Monsieur  Cortland,"  — for  the 
young  man  had  arisen  to  take  leave. 


34  THE  PRICE  OF  SILENCE 

"  A  ce  soir"  he  repeated,  stumbling  a  little 
over  the  unaccustomed  phrase.  "  Then,  we  will 
elope  to-morrow,  mademoiselle,"  he  added  lightly. 

"  Or  the  day  after,"  she  assented,  in  the 
same  tone.  "  Unless  in  the  meantime  the  real 
Prince  —  " 

If  the  last  playful  suggestion  jarred  Cortland's 
vanity,  the  impression  was  but  momentary.  A 
satisfied  smile  was  already  hovering  upon  his  lip 
when  he  entered  the  corridor ;  and  when,  half- 
way along  its  shadowy  arch,  he  turned,  it  was 
not  to  survey  the  girl,  outlined  as  before  against 
the  glossy  green  of  the  mandarin,  but  to  take  in 
with  half-closed  eyes  the  carpeted  stairway  lead- 
ing into  the  halls  above,  along  which  one  passed 
from  room  to  room  into  the  presence  of  Madame 
de  Laussan. 

"Yas,  chile,"  Uncle  Mink  was  saying,  as  if 
there  had  been  no  break  in  his  confidences, "  dey 
tames  mo'  easier.  Li'l  Hannah  ain't  got  no 
hired  education,  but  she  kin  cook.  I  was  a  fiel'- 
han'  myse'f  back  in  Ole  Virginny ;  but  when  Ole 
Mis'  seen  me  settin'  out  dem  yarbs  yonder,  she 
dis-cover  dat  I  has  a  good  han' ;  ever't'ing  I 
puts  into  de  groun'  grows.  Yas,  honey,  hit 


MATIN  35 

grows.  Dat  huccom  Ole  Mis'  keep  me  in  town  to 
gyarden  fer  her  ;  cep'n  when  I  goes  up  to  Lady's 
Rule  to  git  married.  I  mos'ly  keeps  my  wives 
an'  my  chillen  up  at  Lady's  Rule".  Hit 's  mo' 
safer." 

The  garrulous  tongue  clattered  on.  Noemie 
thrust  a  handful  of  violets  into  her  belt,  and 
strolled  toward  the  house. 

" Matin :  chagrin"  she  murmured  lightly ; 
"  what  disaster,  I  wonder,  will  mar  my  entrance 
into  the  world  —  into  real  life  !  Perhaps  the  soup 
will  be  spoiled  at  the  dinner ;  or  1'oncle  Grand- 
champs  will  quarrel  with  Monsieur  Paturin  about 
Napoleon  ;  or  there  will  be  a  crush  at  the  ball ; 
or  there  will  be  no  one ;  or  —  fearful  thought !  — 
I  will  have  no  partners.  Matin  :  chagrin." 

She  passed,  singing,  up  the  grand  stair. 


ni 

DANS    LE    TEMPS 

THE  dinner  was  drawing  to  a  close ;  so  far, 
there  had  been  nothing  to  justify  the  de- 
scent from  nowhere,  a  few  hours  earlier,  of  a 
certain  fat,  ominous  spider.  Madame  de  Laussan 
presided,  stately  in  velvet  and  ancestral  laces, 
wearing  upon  her  abundant  snow-white  hair  the 
famous  de  Laussan  tiara  of  diamonds.  The  table, 
with  its  rare  appointment  of  crystal  and  silver, 
its  exquisite  napery,  choice  flowers,  —  even  its 
wines, — met  the  approval  of  Major  Leon  Grand- 
champs,  late  of  the  Confederate  States  Army, 
that  handsome  grizzled  connoisseur  whose  pre- 
sence was  equally  sought  after  and  dreaded  by  the 
dinner-givers  of  the  Vieux  Carre. 

"Ah!"  —  Miss  Carrington  settled  back  in  her 
chair.  "  L'oncle  Grandchamps  has  begun  to  recall 
dans  le  temps  !  This  means,"  she  breathed  into 
the  ear  of  her  left-hand  neighbor,  "that  as  a 
dinner-party  we  are  a  success.  Dieu  merci" 


DANS  LE  TEMPS  37 

The  neighbor,  Donald  Strang,  assumed  an 
attitude  of  respectful  attention,  his  face  turned 
toward  the  rigid  disciplinarian  of  the  old  school ; 
but  he  looked  sidewise  at  Noemie.  "  She  looks, 
somehow,  different  from  the  others,"  he  de- 
cided within  himself.  "  What  is  it  which  makes 
her  — different?" 

Perhaps  it  was  the  fair  head  set  like  a  flower 
on  the  milk-white  neck;  the  other  young  heads 
were  all  dark  by  contrast,  even  Frances  Heron's, 
which  passed  elsewhere  for  blonde,  Don's  own 
red  mane,  and  the  brown,  close-cut  crop  of  Sidney 
Cortland.  The  light  streaming  downward  from 
the  crystal  chandeliers  was  hardly  more  palely 
golden  than  the  soft  nimbus  crowning  her 
brow. 

"  You  must  not  talk,"  Noemie  admonished  the 
young  man  on  her  right,  for  Monplaisir  had 
leaned  toward  her  and  opened  his  lips  to  speak; 
"not  to  be  listened  to  sours  the  wine  of  1'oncle 
Grandchamps,  and  then  he  and  Monsieur  Paturin 
quarrel  about  General  Bonaparte.  Besides,"  she 
added  with  demure  gravity,  "  the  young  learn  by 
listening." 

"  For  myself,  ma  cousine,  I  prefer  to  be  old 


38  THE  PRICE  OF  SILENCE 

and  to  learn  by  looking,"  returned  Felix  Monplai- 
sir  gallantly,  sweeping  her  with  an  openly  admir- 
ing glance. 

" Dans  le  temps"  Major  Grandchamps  was 
saying  oracularly,  "  when  those  electric  bogg  had 
their  abode  in  the  cypriere,  and  the  timber  for 
those  electric  car-r  was  in  the  a-cor-rn,"  —  he 
shifted  easily  from  English  to  French,  and  back 
again  as  he  proceeded,  according  as  his  eyes 
chanced  to  fall  upon  American  or  Creole, — 
"when  some  of  us  were  young,  eh,  Paturin? — 
and  there  were  such  lips  and  such  eyes  in  the 
corbeille  at  the  Theatre  de  I' Opera  as  the  degen- 
erates of  this  day  have  not  the  red  blood  to 
imagine !  when  you  felt  the  beat  of  your  heart 
to  the  tips  of  your  fingers ;  when  you  drained 
your  glass  without  asking  leave  of  your  stom- 
ach !  dans  le  temps  —  " 

"Which  is  as  much  as  to  say  'befo'  the  wah/" 
murmured  Tom  Masters  into  the  air. 

Exactly  !  the  veteran  had  mounted  his  hobby, 
and  was  galloping  gayly  back  into  a  day  when 
the  sun  really  revolved  around  the  earth.  Who 
that  lived  then  does  not  know  it,  as  it  were,  by 
heart, — that  golden  time  of  youth  and  romance, 


DANS  LE  TEMPS  39 

and  large  leisure,  and  easy  credit !  The  time  of 
mint-julep,  and  foxhound,  and  colichemarde!  Of 
unrivaled  women  and  adventurous  men  !  Dans 
le  temps  !  But  yes ! 

"  The  war,  our  war  —  not  that  bagatelle  of  a 
Spanish-American,"  said  Monsieur  Alcide  Patu- 
rin,  in  the  thin,  pleasant  tones  which  accorded 
with  his  profession :  he  was  an  avocat.  Yet, 
small,  shrunken,  and  old  as  he  now  was,  leathery 
and  musty  in  the  midst  of  leathery  pamphlets 
and  musty  title-deeds,  Paturin  had  been  in  '61 
a  chasseur  a  pied  in  baggy  trousers  and  a  red 
sash;  a  fighter,  too,  of  the  best.  "  That  Civil  War 
illuminated  the  death-bed  of  the  Old  Regime. 
The  New  ?  Bah !  It  is  of  a  commercialism  to 
poison  the  air  we  breathe." 

The  younger  guests,  seeing  that  Paturin  had 
been  allowed  to  enter  the  arena,  felt  themselves 
released ;  there  was  instant  resumption  of  light 
chatter  about  the  lower  end  of  the  long  oval. 

"  Do  you  know,  Noemie,"  called  Jeanne  Berthet 
across  the  central  mound  of  roses,  "who  has  come 
to  that  United  States  Barrack  —  Jacksow  Bar- 
rack—  down  the  river?  Maxime  Allard.  None 
other." 


40  THE   PRICE   OF  SILENCE 

Noemie  flushed  slightly.  "Truly?"  she  cried. 
"  I  thought  he  was  in  the  Philippines." 

"  So  he  has  been.  But  at  present,  behold  him 
returned,  a  captain  in  the  artilleree.  Shoulder- 
straps  and  all.  II  est  beau  comme  un  ange  in 
his  uniform." 

"  Sh  !  Sh !  "  warned  Madame  Berthet,  her 
mother  (born  Grandchamps),  with  a  glance  at  the 
white  heads  at  the  upper  end  of  the  oval.  "  You 
forget  that  the  father  of  Maxime,  le  Colonel  Al- 
lard,  was  comrade  to  my  papa  in  that  Confederate 
war.  Papa,  therefore,  does  not  pardon  him  for 
allowing  Maxime  to  enter  Vecole  militaire  de 
West  Point.  Neither  does  he  pardon  Max- 
ime—" 

"  All  the  same,  he  has  done  something  wonder- 
ful in  the  Philippines,  Maxime,  and  he  dances 
adorably,"  persisted  Jeanne. 

"  In —  this  —  very —  house,  Goddam  !  "  The 
table  shook  under  a  blow,  thrice  repeated,  from 
the  fist  of  Major  Grandchamps ;  the  crystal  pen- 
dants of  the  candelabra  tinkled  musically,  half  a 
dozen  slender-stemmed  wineglasses  toppled  over, 
spilling  their  amber  contents  on  the  cloth. 

Noemie  turned  pale.  "  I  knew  it !  "  she  con- 


DANS  LE  TEMPS  41 

fided  desperately  to  Strang.  "  Monsieur  Paturin 
and  1'oncle  Grandchamps  are  quarreling.  The 
great  Napoleon  has  arrived.  But  no.  It  is  only 
the  Yankee  captain  and  the  Provost  Guard." 
Again  she  settled  back,  relieved,  in  her  chair;  and 
again  there  was  respectful  silence.  For  Major 
Grandchamps  was  telling  the  "  Story  of  the 
Sword." 

"  It  belonged  to  the  Marquis  de  Lafayette," 
he  continued,  "  by  whom  it  was  worn  during  the 
War  of  the  Revolution,  when  France  so  nobly 
came  to  the  aid  of  those  American  colonies.  The 
Marquis  presented  it  to  his  friend  and  aide-de- 
camp, Louis  Destrehan,  the  ancestor  of  madame 
ma  cousine."  The  speaker  paused,  arose  delib- 
erately from  his  chair  and  leaned  forward  to  take 
in  his  own  the  jeweled  hand  of  Madame  de  Laus- 
san,  and  to  set  his  moustached  lips  upon  the 
satin-white  finger  tips.  "  Her  father,  falling  at 
the  Battle  of  New  Orleans,  gave  it,  blood-stained, 
to  his  friend  Pierre  de  Laussan,  who,  holding  it 
aloft,  led  his  command  to  victory.  It  is  a  sword  of 
honor,  that  sword.  The  jeweled  hilt  surmounts 
a  Toledo  blade  of  the  first  quality  —  long,  flex- 
ible, slender.  Hilt  and  scabbard  bear  the  fleur- 


42  THE  PRICE  OF  SILENCE 

de-lys  of  France.  A  precious  souvenir  in  the 
famille  Destrehan-de-Laussan.  It  was  presented 
by  General  Pierre  de  Laussan  to  his  grandson," 
—  the  major  paused  and  lowered  his  head  rever- 
ently —  "  to  Pierre  de  Laussan,  the  only  son  of 
Nemours  de  Laussan  and  his  wife,  madame  ma 
cousine"  Again  the  vieux  moustache  arose  from 
his  chair  to  bend  over  the  jeweled  hand  of  his 
kinswoman ;  it  trembled  in  his  grasp.  "  The 
great  war — our  war  —  breaks  out,"  he  contin- 
ued, standing  in  military  erectness,  and  speaking 
with  rapid,  dramatic  utterance ;  "  Nemours  de 
Laussan  is  already  at  the  forefront  of  his  coun- 
try's defense.  His  son,  Pierre,  though  but  a 
child,  has  the  consent  of  a  patriotic  mother  to 
join  that  gallant  father.  He  is  at  the  moment  of 
bidding  her  farewell.  He  is  in  hiding,  here  in  the 
hotel  de  Laussan — for  those  despicable  Yankees 
have  possession  of  our  city,  and  there  are  spies 
everywhere,  —  spies  hiding  in  the  courtyard  of 
your  house ;  spies  behind  the  portieres  of  your 
salon ;  spies  under  the  table  in  your  bureau,  spies 
at  the  crack  of  your  door,  at  your  heel,  at  your 
elbow  —  black  spies,  white  spies  —  the  white  are 
the  worst,  Goddam !  They  bring  their  lies  to 


DANS  LE  TEMPS  43 

that  degraded  Provost  Marshal ;  he  sends  his  vile 
scum  of  a  guard.  It  is  infamous !  The  pauvre 
enfant,  I  tell  you,  is  in  the  act  of  receiving  upon 
his  brow  the  holy  embrace  of  his  mother.  That 
guard  enters  —  this — very  —  house  —  "  Again 
the  table  dances  under  the  blow,  thrice  repeated, 
of  the  major's  clenched  fist ;  and  again  wine- 
glasses topple  over;  one  in  front  of  Cortland 
has  its  slender  foot  broken,  the  fragments  roll- 
ing to  the  polished  floor.  "  Those  ames-de-boue 
of  Yankee  soldiers  are  commanded  by  a  captain 
who  has  the  face  of  a  villain,  Goddam ! "  The 
speaker's  eyes,  which  glared  in  their  deep  sock- 
ets, were  fixed  unconsciously  upon  Cortland,  who 
listened  with  an  air  of  detached  interest.  "A 
ferocious  villain.  But  when  he  reached  the  li- 
brary where  madame  ma  cousine  stands,  pro- 
tected only  by  her  sacred  womanhood,  —  aha  ! 
the  young  eaglet  has  flown.  And  he  has  taken 
from  its  place  on  the  wall  the  sword  of  Lafayette. 
He  finds  time  and  place,  in  the  midst  of  his 
hurried  flight,  to  hide  that  venerated  sword, 
that  the  hand  of  an  enemy  may  not  pollute  it, 
hilt  or  blade.  He  raises  it  aloft  in  a  last  salute 
to  his  mother,  as  he  passes — forever,  helas  I 


44  THE   PRICE   OF  SILENCE 

—  from  her  sight.  Enough,  my  friends."  The 
deep  voice,  become  husky,  ceased  a  moment ;  the 
old  man  drew  the  back  of  his  hand,  unashamed, 
across  his  dimmed  eyes.  "  Since  forty  years,"  he 
resumed,  "that  sword  remains  hidden  where 
Pierre  placed  it,  somewhere  in  this  house ;  for  the 
boy  —  killed  in  the  defense  of  his  country  — 
has  never  revealed  the  secret  of  its  hiding-place. 
I  have  myself  sought  it — vainly.  So  have  many 
others.  Sometimes,"  the  old  voice  trailed  on, 
slowly  now,  and  dreamily,  "  I  picture  to  my- 
self that  brave  young  scion  of  the  famille  Des- 
trehan-de-Laussan  coming  up  at  midnight  from 
the  cimetiere  St.  Louis,  where  he  sleeps,  to  take 
the  old  sword  he  so  honored,  from  its  unknown 
refuge,  and  to  pass  with  it,  head  aloft,  through 
the  well-remembered  house  where  he  was  born  —  " 

"  Leon,  pour  V amour  de  Dieu  !  "  Madame  de 
Laussan  had  arisen  from  her  chair ;  her  hands 
were  outstretched  in  trembling  entreaty;  her 
white  face  a  prey  to  agonized  emotions,  long 
dormant. 

"  Major  Grandchamps,"  Strang  broke  upon  the 
painful  silence  in  a  matter-of-fact  tone,  though 
his  hand,  grasping  the  back  of  Noemie's  chair, 


DANS  LE  TEMPS  45 

shook  a  little,  "  I  lay  you  a  wager,  ten  to  one  if 
you  will,  that  I  find  that  sword  —  provided,  of 
course,  that  Madame  de  Laussan  shall  grant  me 
the  right  of  search  —  " 

"  I  also  claim  the  grace  of  a  like  wager,"  cried 
Monplaisir. 

"  And  I,"  proffered  Masters.  The  tense  mo- 
ment was  tided  over. 

Monsieur  Paturin  had  forced  Madame  de 
Laussan  very  gently  back  into  her  seat.  Major 
Grandchamps,  still  breathing  heavily,  was  beg- 
ging her  pardon  in  undertone. 

"  And  I  also,"  remarked  Paturin.  "  Only,  mes- 
sieurs, if  I,  groping  about  the  attics  through 
those  trapdoors  known  to  Hercule,  or  climbing 
to  the  belvidere  up  forgotten  stairways,  shall 
unearth  the  sword  of  Lafayette,  I  shall  claim  as 
a  reward  the  hand  of  Mademoiselle  Noemie  de 
Laussan  Carrington." 

A  laugh  went  around  the  table. 

"  A  good  suggestion,  Monsieur  Paturin,"  said 
Madame  de  Laussan,  making  a  visible  effort  to 
recover  her  self-control.  "Hear,  messieurs  I  The 
hand  of  Mademoiselle  Carrington  shall  be  the 
guerdon  of  him  who  finds  the  Lafayette  sword." 


46  THE   PRICE   OF   SILENCE 

"  A  dangerous  promise,  Laure,  and  a  rash, 
though  it  be  only  in  jest,"  interposed  Major 
Grandchamps,  with  the  irritability  which  is  apt  to 
follow  great  mental  excitement. 

Madame  de  Laussan  was  herself  suffering  the 
anti-climax  of  painful  emotion.  "  I  am  not  jest- 
ing," she  declared  haughtily.  "I  swear  it  —  by 
the  Holy  Virgin."  She  raised  her  voice  in  obsti- 
nate repetition.  "  The  hand  of  Mademoiselle  de 
Laussan  Carrington  shall  be  the  reward  of  him 
who  finds  the  sword  of  Lafayette,  hidden  in 
1862  by  my  son,  Pierre  de  Laussan." 

"The  quest  is  open  to  all?"  demanded  Cort- 
land,  who  had  hitherto  remained  silent. 

"  Yes,  monsieur,  to  all." 

"  For  a  Year  and  a  Day,"  amended  Noemie 
laughing;  "like  the  Quest  of  the  Grail."  She 
gave  her  arm,  as  she  spoke,  to  her  grandmother. 

"A  woman  in  a  million,  madame  ma  cousine," 
remarked  Major  Grandchamps,  when  the  portiere 
had  dropped  behind  them ;  "  but  of  a  temper  to 
intimidate  the  devil.  It  will  be  the  death  of  her." 

"  It  keeps  her  alive,"  returned  Paturin,  filling 
his  glass,  drop  by  drop,  with  the  practiced  hand 
of  a  bon  viveur. 


IV 

PIERRE'S  TERRACE 

II/TISS  CARRINGTON  led  the  way,  lifting 
-*-*-•-  here  a  silken  curtain,  there  skirting  a  palm- 
shaded  recess,  traversing  unsuspected  passages, 
skimming  through  oddly-set  rooms,  deserted  but 
aglow  with  light.  Cortland  followed,  casting  as 
he  went  speculative  glances  around.  The  echo 
of  dance  music  came  after  them,  with  the  soft- 
ened murmur  of  many  voices,  the  rhythmic  beat 
of  young  feet  upon  polished  floors  —  for  the  ball 
was  at  its  height.  The  girl  paused  at  length,  and 
turned  a  dance-flushed  face  over  her  shoulder. 
"  Here,  Mr.  Cortland,  you  will  find  that  breath 
of  fresh  air  for  which  you  offer  your  soul." 

"  It  is  worth  it,"  Cortland  returned,  stepping 
through  the  French  window  after  her,  and  draw- 
ing into  his  lungs  a  full  inspiration  of  dewy, 
flower-scented  night  air. 

"Since  the  contract  remains  unsigned,"  she 
laughed. 

A  marble  balustrade,  discolored  by  time,  en- 


48  THE  PRICE  OF   SILENCE 

closed  the  wide  terrace,  or  loggia,  upon  which 
they  stood ;  a  short  flight  of  steps,  also  of  marble, 
broken  and  worn,  led  down  into  the  small  inner 
court,  faced  on  one  side  by  the  stable,  coach-  and 
toolhouse.  Low  benches  were  set  against  the 
stuccoed  wall  of  the  house ;  one  end  of  the  ter- 
race was  closed  by  a  flower-box,  —  a  sort  of  brick 
and  stucco  sarcophagus,  —  from  which  a  giant 
plumbago  tossed  down  the  outer  slope  a  cascade  of 
feathery  leafage  starred  with  clusters  of  blossom, 
— pale-blue  by  daylight,  but  under  the  full  moon 
ghostly  white.  A  border  of  sweet  alyssum  hung, 
ragged,  over  the  inner  edge  of  the  box;  huge 
urns,  also  funereal  in  suggestion,  flanked  the 
marble  steps  on  either  side :  these  gave  out  the 
heavy  scent  of  the  Grand  Duke  jessamine. 

"  How  picturesque  !  "  exclaimed  Cortland. 

"The  terrace?  Isn't  it!"  Noemie  sank 
lightly  upon  the  bench,  her  white  draperies  fluff- 
ing around  her.  "  It  is  called  Pierre's  Terrace, 
because  it  was  here  that  Hercule  —  the  negro 
who  managed  the  escape  —  found  my  little  un- 
cle Pierre  the  day  the  Yankees  came  to  arrest 
him.  He  was  sitting  right  where  I  am  sitting 
now,  waiting,  his  pistol  in  his  hand  — " 


PIERRE'S   TERRACE  49 

"  The  sword  upon  his  knee,"  interjected  Cort- 
land  flippantly. 

She  was  too  absorbed  to  note  his  tone.  "  The 
sword  ?  He  had  already  hidden  the  sword ;  Her- 
cule  never  saw  it.  Hercule  jumped  from  the  bal- 
usters to  the  wall  yonder,  and  drew  my  uncle  up 
after  him.  I  can  see  it  all  as  if  it  were  under  iny 
eyes  !  Then  they  climbed  somehow  to  the  little 
jutting  balcony,  —  you  may  see  the  corner  of  it 
from  where  you  stand,  —  and  so  into  the  old  tur- 
ret-schoolroom, and  out  upon  the  roof.  That 
Yankee  officer  was  in  a  fine  rage,"  she  added 
gleefully,  "  when  he  found  that  his  prey  had 
escaped.  Hercule  described  it  all  to  my  grand- 
mother. She  gave  him  the  last  gold-piece  she 
possessed.  He  had  a  handful  of  silver,  besides, 
from  the  Yankee  captain,  —  in  payment  for  his 
services  as  a  guide  to  the  hotel  de  Laussan." 

"  The  scoundrel !  "  ejaculated  Cortland  invol- 
untarily. 

"Hercule?  Do  you  think  him  a  scoundrel? 
Hercule ! "  She  looked  up  in  nai've  surprise. 
"  We  regard  him  as  a  saint  —  almost.  A  little  — 
crooked  —  to  the  enemy,  if  you  will ;  but  incap- 
able of  betraying  his  master.  I  never  saw  him — 


50  THE  PRICE   OF  SILENCE 

dear  old  Hercule ;  it  all  happened  ages  before  I 
was  born,  of  course.  There  are  many  of  his  kind 
among  us,  even  yet,  —  loyal  to  the  core  to  the 
families  who  once  owned  them,  or  their  fathers 
and  their  mothers.  However,  you  of  the  North 
cannot,  of  course,  understand  —  " 

"  I  am  not  a  Northern  man,"  interrupted  Cort- 
land  shortly  ;  "  I  was  born  in  the  South — in  this 
state.  So  was  my  father  before  me.  My  peo- 
ple— "  he  stopped  abruptly,  biting  his  lips. 
Secretive  by  nature  and  habit,  the  inherited 
antagonism  of  the  Southern  poor-white  to  the  'ris- 
tocrat,  and  his  apparently  instinctive  antagonism 
to  the  negro  who  despises  him,  had  broken  an 
overlaid  crust  and  betrayed  the  young  man  into 
an  admission  which  he  was  far  from  intending  to 
make.  His  discomfort  communicated  itself  to  his 
companion. 

"  Oh !  "  she  said,  confused,  without  knowing 
why,  "then  yours  is  a  return  of  the  native  !  Wel- 
come home,  monsieur!  But  come,"  —  she  arose, — 
"  our  five  minutes'  leave  must  be  long  over.  We 
shall  have  a  phalanx  of  chaperones  upon  us  !  Be- 
sides, my  waltzes  will  be  in  a  hopeless  tangle." 

Fair  as  she  was,  standing  before  him,  white- 


PIERRE'S   TERRACE  51 

clad,  dream-like  in  the  moonlight,  Cortland,  for 
the  moment,  was  hardly  aware  of  her  fairness,  — 
even  of  her  presence.  By  one  of  those  flashes, 
set  loose  by  a  chance  word,  a  gesture,  a  glance, 
which  at  times  illumine  a  whole  forgotten  past, 
there  unrolled  before  his  inner  vision  a  rapid 
panorama  of  his  own  life:  he  saw,  vividly  pro- 
jected against  the  background  of  shiftless  cabin 
and  unkempt  field,  the  motherless,  barefoot  boy, 
shunned  by  his  own  kind  as  the  son  of  a  "  rene- 
gade ; "  absolutely  non-existent  for  that  higher 
world  gathering  itself  together  with  patrician  in- 
solence from  the  wreck  of  the  Civil  War  ;  jeered 
at  by  the  negroes,  who  held  themselves,  as  always, 
above  his  class,  and  who  had,  besides,  a  curious 
contempt  for  the  Southern  man  "  turned  Yankee  " 
—  even  to  break  their  own  yoke  of  slavery  !  He 
followed  in  fancy  the  career  of  the  boy  himself : 
as  a  petty  clerk  in  the  far-off  Western  town 
whither  his  father,  ex-colonel  U.  S.  A.,  had  re- 
moved. He  tracked  the  unprincipled  clerk  into 
the  adventurer,  the  dead-beat,  gambler,  spend- 
thrift ;  of  later  years  the  —  He  faced  the  girl 
suddenly  in  a  sort  of  fury ;  a  demand  from  her 
of  payment  for  all  he  had  endured,  all  he  had 


52  THE  PRICE  OF  SILENCE 

had,  all  he  had  not  had,  struggled  to  his  lips 
and  well-nigh  burst  forth.  She  drew  back,  paling 
a  little  under  his  violent  glance.  He  recovered 
himself.  "  Pierre's  Terrace  ! "  He  turned,  linger- 
ingly,  to  follow  her  into  the  house.  "  So  the 
Yankee  officer  looted  the  hotel  de  Laussan ! " 
he  laughed.  "  Did  he  by  chance  carry  away  any- 
thing of  importance  ?  Papers  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,"  returned  Noemie  carelessly,  "the  de 
Laussan  jewels  were  too  safely  hidden  away  for 
even  his  greedy  eyes.  And,  as  my  grandmother 
said,  the  loss  of  the  de  Laussan  diamonds  would 
have  been  a  trifle  compared  with  my  little  uncle 
Pierre's  safety." 

"  Madame  de  Laussan  is  doubtless  rich  enough 
to  support  such  a  loss." 

Again  Cortland  bit  his  lip,  subtly  aware  that 
in  the  de  Laussan  world  such  a  remark  would 
have  been  ticketed  as  vulgar. 

But  Noemie  had  not  heard.  She  had  paused  on 
the  threshold  of  the  French  window,  and  stood 
listening;  a  smile  parted  her  red  lips. 

From  the  servants'  quarters,  invisible  from  the 
inner  court,  came  floating  the  long-drawn,  plain- 
tive notes  of  a  "spiritual"  sung  by  Old  Babe. 


PIERRE'S  TERRACE  53 

The  violins  from  the  other  direction,  though 
they  flung  into  the  advancing  night  the  sensuous 
strains  of  a  waltz,  bore  up  the  weird  melody 
strangely. 

Look  to  yo'  foot,  ez  you  trdbble  on  de  way, 

Walk  wa-ry. 
Fer  de  Snake  is  in  de  Grass  at  de  een  o'  de  day, 

Walk  wa-ry. 

Then,  to  the  drumming  of  bare  feet  on  the 
floor,  and  in  a  staccato  movement  that  suggested 
the  tam-tam  and  the  gourd-rattle  :  — 

Snake  in  de  Grass,  kill  um  I  kill  um ! 
Stomp  on  he  haid  twell  he  die. 

Stomp,  stomp,  s-t-o-m-p  ! 

The  song  ended  abruptly,  parting  with  a  shriek 
from  the  ballroom  waltz. 

"They  have  a  curious  effect  on  me,  those 
negro  melodies,"  Noemie  said,  moving  on.  "They 
seem  to  transport  me  into  some  mysterious  region 
where  are  dim,  formless  shapes  and  half-remem- 
bered sounds.  I  suppose  it  is  an  inheritance,  so 
to  speak,  from  my  foster-mother,  Sirene." 

"Doubtless,"  agreed  Cortland.  He  drew  her 
ungloved  hand  through  his  arm,  bending  keen 
eyes  as  he  did  so  upon  the  tapering,  ringless 
fingers  with  their  shell-like  nails. 


THE   BOX 

A  PRETTY  enough  corbeille  !  "  Major  Grand- 
-*•-*-  champs  spoke  with  kindly  condescension.  He 
surveyed  the  house  through  his  opera-glasses, 
removing  them  from  moment  to  moment  to  bow 
in  the  direction  of  an  open  box,  or  a  loge  grillee. 
"Not  comparable,  certainly,  to  the  corbeille  of 
dans  le  temps.  But,  creditable.  Creditable." 

The  great  auditorium  presented,  tier  upon  tier, 
a  spectacle  of  dazzling  splendor.  That  exuberant 
fancy  which  had  likened  the  general  effect  of  the 
horseshoe  filled  with  women  in  radiant  toilettes, 
resplendent  in  jewels,  to  a  basket  of  flowers,  did 
not  seem  far-fetched  at  this  ouverture  of  the 
French  opera  season.  The  curtain  had  fallen, 
amid  an  uproar  of  applause,  on  the  first  act  of 
Les  Huguenots ;  and  the  small  army  of  men 
supporting  the  boxes  —  standing  several  rows 
deep,  a  black  fringe  against  the  curving  wall  — 
had  swarmed  forward,  sudden  as  a  flight  of  bees, 


THE  BOX  55 

to  hover  over  "bud"  and  full-blown  flower  in 
loge  decouverte  or  grillee,  or  baignoire. 

Major  Grandchamps  stood  in  the  rear  of  the 
proscenium-box  where  Madame  Berthet,  his 
daughter  —  a  suave  and  smiling,  but  alert  guar- 
dian —  presided  over  the  destinies  of  the  jeunes 
filles  in  her  care.  He  frowned,  stroking  his 
gray  moustache  with  a  gloved  hand,  in  the  effort 
to  crystallize  the  vague  memory  stirred  by  the 
entrance  of  a  young  man  in  correct  evening 
dress,  who  bowed  before  him,  and  half  extended, 
half  withdrew  his  hand  with  a  confused  air, 
passing  on  to  the  circle  gathering  about  Miss 
Carrington.  "  Where  the  devil  have  I  met  him? " 
the  major  muttered.  "Fine-looking  fellow,  pa- 
role d'honneur.  Looks  like  a  soldier." 

The  newcomer  was,  in  fact,  a  soldier.  Maxime 
Allard,  smiling  under  Jeanne  Berthet's  gay  rail- 
lery, but  bending  grave  eyes  upon  his  old  play- 
fellow, Noemie  Carrington,  recalled  to  the  major, 
had  he  but  known  it,  his  sometime  comrade-in- 
arms and  now  bitter  enemy,  Colonel  Fernand  Al- 
lard, late  of  the  Confederate  States  Army ! 

As  the  young  officer  advanced,  the  others  drew 
aside,  according  to  the  strict  code  of  the  entr'- 


56  THE  PRICE  OF  SILENCE 

acte.  He  had  been  wondering  for  the  past  half- 
hour,  watching  Noemie  from  his  chair  in  the 
parquet,  what  he  should  say  first  when  he  came 
into  her  presence  after  so  many  years  of  absence. 
He  was,  truth  to  say,  not  sure  whether — seeing 
that  the  Grandchamps-Allard  feud,  of  which  he 
was  the  more  or  less  innocent  cause,  closed  to 
him  the  doors  of  the  Grandchainps  connection  — 
he  ought  to  enter  her  box  at  all !  He  asked  him- 
self many  times  afterward  what  had  prompted 
him  to  demand,  looking  down  into  her  flushed 
face:  "And  the  sword  of  Lafayette?  Has  it 
ever  been  found  ?  Do  you  remember,  Noemie  — 
Miss  Carrington,"  he  had  continued,  half  in  em- 
barrassment, "  how  you  and  I  and  Jeanne  used  to 
follow  Toncle  Grandchamps  and  Monsieur  Patu- 
rin,  or  old  Mink,  or  Sirene,  about  from  ground- 
floor  to  attic  in  order  to  be  in  at  the  finding  of 
the  sword  ?  " 

"And  how  Noemie  regularly  offered  her  allow- 
ance to  St.  Anthony  of  Padua  for  even  the 
slightest  clue  ?  It  is  true  that  NoenuVs  allow- 

C5 

ance  was  always  spent  long  in  advance  —  for 
dragees.  Perhaps  the  saint  suspected  that.  At 
least,  he  never  furnished  the  clue  !  " 


THE  BOX  57 

"  For  shame,  Jeanne ! "  laughed  Noemie.  "  Yes, 
I  remember.  And  even  when  you  were  a  big 
boy —  Captain  Allard  —  searching  on  your  own 
account,  once  you  tumbled  into  a  cobwebbed 
oubliette  and  had  to  be  dragged  out  by  the 
heels !  " 

"  All  that  was  before  West  Point,  alas ! "  mur- 
mured Allard.  "Now,  I  fear — "  He  glanced  at 
the  major  in  the  rear  of  the  box,  who,  having 
at  length  placed  him,  was  scowling  at  him  furi- 
ously. 

"  No,  it  has  never  been  found,"  Noemie  said. 

"  And  you  must  know,  Maxime,"  interrupted 
Jeanne,  "  that  the  hand  of  Mademoiselle  Noemie 
de  Laussan  Carrington,  with  or  without  her 
heart,  is  the  prize  offered  for  the  restoration  of 
that  sword.  Madame  de  Laussan,  ma  tante,  has 
sworn  it  by  the  crown  of  the  Virgin  —  no  longer 
ago  than  last  night.  The  aspirants  are  already 
in  evidence.  They  choke  the  halls  of  the  hotel 
de  Laussan  ;  the  stairways  resound  under  their 
feet.  Even  Monsieur  Alcide  Paturin  has  entered 
the  lists." 

"  And  you,  Miss  Carrington  ?  Are  you  also 
pledged  to  this  compact  ?  " 


58  THE  PRICE  OF  SILENCE 

She  flashed  an  enigmatic  glance  upon  him 
before  replying.  "  I  ?  I  am  bound  at  least  for  a 
Year  and  a  Day." 

Monplaisir  had  joined  the  group.  He  laid  an 
arm  familiarly  across  Allard's  shoulder.  "  You  are 
barred  by  your  uniform,  mon  vieux.  Our  fiery  old 
dragon  of  an  uncle  yonder  will  guard  the  door 
of  the  hotel  de  Laussan  with  blade  and  flame." 

"  All  the  same,"  cried  Allard  gayly,  "  I  enroll 
myself  in  the  Legion  :  I  will  follow  the  Quest  if 
I  have  to  break  my  way  into  the  house  by  the 
roof  —  as  Pierre  de  Laussan  broke  his  way  out ! " 

"  Who  is  the  man  yonder,  just  quitting  the 
de  Laussan  box  ?  "  demanded  Cortland  of  the 
heavy-set,  florid  man  who  stood  beside  him  in 
the  slowly  regathering  fringe  opposite,  —  for  a 
traditional  knocking  behind  the  scenes  had  an- 
nounced the  imminent  rise  of  the  curtain. 

"  Which  one  ?  Patterson,  I  think.  Oh,  no, 
it  is  Allard,  an  army  officer ;  a  captain,  I  believe. 
He  has  just  come  back  from  the  Philippines. 
Belongs  to  one  of  the  old  Creole  families  —  " 

"  Drop  that,  will  you  !  "  growled  Cortland  ; 
"I  am  sick  of  your  old  Creole  families,  your 
ancien  regime,  your  befo'  the  wah  aristocracy." 


THE  BOX  59 

He  mimicked  cleverly  certain  well-known  social 
lights.  "  Here  ;  let's  get  out.  The  whole  thing 
bores  me  to  death." 

"Lord,  Sid,"  ejaculated  his  companion,  "I 
thought  you  liked  it  —  and  them !  "  He  indicated 
the  horseshoe  in  a  comprehensive  nod.  "  D — d 
if  I  did  n't !  You  Ve  got  to  be  such  a  swell  since 
we  come  to  New  Orleans !  Get  out  ?  You  bet ! 
I  've  been  ready  to  quit  ever  since  that  bandy- 
legged little  tenor  began  to  bawl.  But,  say,  ain't 
you  going  to  sachey  round  to  the  prosceenyum 
box  first?" 

"  I  have  been,"  snorted  Cortland,  beginning 
to  elbow  his  way  through  the  fringe.  He  had 
been  !  And  he  smarted  still  with  the  remembrance 
of  his  own  dumb  awkwardness  as  he  had  stood 
in  the  half-circle  of  men  ranged  in  front  of  No- 
emie  Carrington,  tossing  the  airy  bubble  of  per- 
siflage back  and  forth  among  themselves,  drop- 
ping it  from  moment  to  moment  to  her  hand, 
catching  it  deftly  in  its  return  flight.  The  ease 
and  grace  of  it  all !  Cortland  glared  at  Donald 
Strang,  —  one  of  'em,  curse  him!  — who  chanced 
to  be  in  his  path. 

He  got  on  well  enough  with  women,  he  re- 


60  THE   PRICE  OF  SILENCE 

fleeted  without  conceit.  Women  liked  him ;  a 
certain  bravado,  easily  construed  into  manliness, 
a  brusqueness  which  hinted  at  restrained  power  ; 
a  gift  for  silence  at  times  which  indicated  depth, 
—  and  mystery  !  —  these  carried  him  easily 
among  women.  He  felt  himself  judged  more 
severely  by  these  suave,  keen-eyed  men  of  the 
world,  who  appraised  bravado  and  brusqueness 
at  their  true  value.  He  was  ill  at  ease  in  their 
company,  handicapped  as  he  was  by  the  ineradi- 
cable suspicion  of  the  caste,  which  was  his  heri- 
tage. 

"  I  have  been,"  he  repeated  savagely,  "  and  I 
have  had  enough." 

The  two  men  stood  for  a  moment  under  the 
open  arcade  of  the  Opera  House ;  then,  walking 
to  the  corner,  they  plunged  into  a  side  street 
lighted  for  several  blocks  by  myriads  of  carriage 
lamps,  pair  after  pair,  one  behind  another,  like 
eyes  starring  the  darkness.  Beyond,  the  intrica- 
cies of  unpaved  cross  streets  and  gloom-wrapped 
alleys. 

The  de  Laussan  library,  the  next  morning,  was 
filled  with  agreeable  warmth  from  a  small  wood 


THE   BOX  61 

fire  which  burned  in  the  open  fireplace ;  the 
crackling  flames,  leaping  above  the  tall  fire-dogs, 
were  reflected  in  the  brass  fender  and  in  the 
mirror-like  polish  of  cabinets,  bookcases,  and 
tables.  A  flood  of  sunshine  poured  in  from  the 
east  windows,  illuminating  the  pictured  faces  of 
hawk-eyed  Destrehan  and  debonair  de  Laussan 
on  the  walls.  Madame  de  Laussan,  erect  in  her 
high-backed  chair,  her  slim  hands  folded  on  her 
lap,  listened  with  almost  wistful  eagerness  to 
Madame  Berthet's  account  of  Noemie's  triumphs 
at  I'ouverture. 

The  old  madame  retained  to  an  extraordinary 
degree  that  imperious  beauty  which,  in  the  early 
forties  of  the  nineteenth  century,  had  stirred 
New  Orleans  —  and  Paris  —  to  enthusiasm.  The 
lines  etched  by  time  and  suffering  around  her 
mouth  and  her  dark  eyes  —  the  Destrehan  eyes 
—  gave  an  added  distinction  to  the  high-bred 
face. 

"I  wish  you  would  tell  me  your  secret,  mar- 
raine  !  "  sighed  Madame  Berthet,  rising  to  go.  "  I 
have  thirty  years  less  than  you  have ;  but,  ma 
foi,  I  look  a  hundred.  It  is  true  that  I  have 
Jeanne  —  who  is  of  a  giddiness !  and  Felix,  my 


62  THE  PRICE  OF  SILENCE 

nephew,  always  running  into  debt ;  and  the  six 
younger  children,  —  besides  papa  who  keeps  no 
hours,  —  but  laissons  la.  Be  content,  chere 
marraine,  Noemie  is  superb.  Like  her  mother. 
When  I  see  Noemie,  I  see  Mathilde !  " 

"  Mathilde  !  "  breathed  Madame  de  Laussan, 
•when  the  door  had  closed  upon  her  visitor.  She 
looked  long  and  steadily  at  the  portrait  above 
the  mantel.  "  There  is  not  a  soul  alive  who 
knows,  besides  ourselves,  Sirene,"  she  mused 
softly,  "  unless,  the  letter  —  " 

Sirene,  crouched  on  the  rug,  was  stroking  the 
small,  slippered  feet  resting  on  her  lap.  "  It  was 
a  lie,"  she  said,  in  the  negre  unmodified  by  years. 

Younger  than  her  mistress  by  a  dozen  years, 
Sirene,  like  her,  had  kept  the  slim,  straight  figure, 
the  fine  poise  of  head,  the  statuesque  repose  of 
youth ;  the  lines  of  age  were  even  more  lightly 
drawn  on  her  dark,  sphinx-like  face.  "Me,  I 
always  knew  it  was  a  lie." 

"  God  be  thanked,  it  never  darkened  her  life. 
She  never  knew  of  it.  And  not  even  the  shadow 
of  it  remains  to  trouble  her  child  —  my  little 
Noemie.  Ah,  God  be  praised!"  Both  women 
crossed  themselves  fervently. 


THE  BOX  63 

Madame  de  Laussan's  long-drawn  sigh  of  re- 
lief had  hardly  fluttered  from  her  lips,  when  she 
felt  a  tension  in  Sirene's  body  which  jerked  the 
mulattress  to  her  knees ;  her  own  hand  was 
clutched  in  a  convulsive  grasp  of  the  brown 
fingers.  "  My  God,  'Tite  Maitresse,  the  Yankee 
Captain  !  —  little  Master  Pierre  !  —  General  But- 
ler's Guard  "  —  stammered  Sirene  incoherently, 
her  jaws  fallen,  her  eyes  starting  from  her 
head. 

Cortland,  dropping  the  portiere  behind  him, 
stood  in  the  exact  spot  where  his  father  had 
paused  on  that  unforgotten  day.  He  held  his 
hat  in  his  hand ;  the  dark  blue  caped  top-coat  he 
wore  added  to  the  momentary  illusion. 

Madame  de  Laussan,  turning  in  her  chair,  saw 
him.  The  terror  awakened  by  Sirene's  outcry 
gave  place  to  an  almost  hysterical  amusement. 
"  Monsieur  Cortland  ! "  she  exclaimed,  rising  and 
advancing  a  step;  "you  are  welcome.  It  is  in- 
deed charitable  of  you  to  remember  the  existence 
of  an  old  woman  like  myself,  after  the  dissipation 
of  last  night." 

"  After  the  dissipation  of  last  night."  Cortland 
repeated  the  words  mechanically.  He  walked 


64  THE   PRICE   OF  SILENCE 

forward  with  deliberation,  slipping  his  hand  into 
the  inner  pocket  of  his  coat  as  he  advanced. 

"  Pray  be  seated,  monsieur. "  Madame  de 
Laussan  waved  him  to  a  chair  and  returned  to 
her  own,  tactfully  unobservant  of  his  pale  face, 
disordered  locks,  and  bloodshotten  eyes. 

"  I  desire  to  see  you  alone,  madame,"  he  said, 
declining  the  chair  and  standing  over  her,  tall 
and  sombre.  Underneath  his  top-coat,  his  even- 
ing clothes  were  visible,  crumpled  and  awry: 
his  shirt  front  was  stained  as  if  by  wine. 

"  I  have  no  secrets  from  Sirene,"  returned  Ma- 
dame de  Laussan  haughtily,  yet  softening  a  little. 
She  had  never  liked  him,  this  intruder  without  a 
background,  forced  upon  her  by  common  decency 
of  feeling.  Yet  it  was  natural,  inevitable,  indeed  ! 
that  he  should  love  Noemie ;  and  that  he  should 
come,  poor  devil,  to  ask  for  Noemie's  — 

"  Leave  the  room ! "  He  addressed  Sirene  with 
harsh  abruptness. 

"  I  ris-seive  my  h'orders  from  my  meestrees." 
Siren e's  head  went  up  as  haughtily  as  that  of 
Madame  de  Laussan  herself. 

"  Go,  Sirene.  Mademoiselle  Noemie  will  be 
waking,  and  needing  you." 


SIDNEY    CORTLAND 


THE  BOX  65 

Madame  de  Laussan  smiled  indulgently  at  her 
visitor.  The  mulattress  left  the  room  instantly, 
but  not  without  a  glance  of  veiled  insolence 
toward  Cortland. 

"  Pray  be  seated,  monsieur,"  repeated  Madame 
de  Laussan. 

Again  Cortland  ignored  the  invitation.  "I 
come,"  he  began  slowly,  as  if  choosing  his  words 
or  rehearsing  a  speech  previously  composed,  "  to 
restore  to  the  famille  de  Laussan  certain  objects 
which  are  doubtless  of  small  intrinsic  value ;  but 
which,  nevertheless  — "  he  drew  his  hand  from 
his  breast-pocket,  "  nevertheless  —  " 

Madame  de  Laussan  uttered  a  cry.  The  small 
box  lying  in  his  open  palm  was  of  tortoise-shell 
inlaid  with  gold,  —  obviously  one  of  those  ancient 
snuff-boxes  designed  for  royal  presentation ;  it 
bore  upon  the  lid  a  medallion  miniature  of  Louis 
XIV  set  in  brilliants. 

"  How  came  this  in  your  possession,  Monsieur 
Cortland?"  demanded  Madame  de  Laussan, reach- 
ing out  a  trembling  hand  to  receive  it.  He  drew 
back,  tapping  the  lid  with  an  unsteady  finger  as 
he  spoke :  — 

"Doubtless  you  may  with  an  effort  recall, 


66  THE   PRICE   OF   SILENCE 

madame,  the  visit  made  you  some  forty  years  ago 
by  a  certain  Yankee  captain,  —  a  morning  call, 
I  believe ;  it  was  before  I  was  born ! " 

Madame  de  Laussan  had  sprung  to  her  feet ; 
she  stood  facing  him,  transfixed  with  horror. 

"That  Yankee,"  he  dwelt  upon  the  words, 
"chanced  to  be  my  father —  Captain  Sidney  Cort- 
land  of  the  United  States  Army ;  in  command, 
at  the  moment  which  I  have  the  honor  to  recall 
to  you,  of  Butler's  Provost  Marshal  Guard.  He 
died  years  ago.  I  beg  you  to  do  him  the  justice 
to  believe  that  he  regretted  the  impulse  which 
led  him  to  carry  away  this  trifle  —  for  so  it  was, 
among  the  many  costly  objects  which  went  into  the 
pockets  of  his  men.  He  —  appropriated  —  it  for  a 
souvenir  of  —  for  the  girl,  afterward  my  mother," 
—  Cortland's  sneering  tone  faltered  a  little, — 
"  to  whom  he  was  at  that  time  engaged.  I  do  not 
think  he  ever  gave  it  to  her ;  she  never  spoke  of 
it.  He  charged  me  on  his  deathbed  to  restore  it 
to  you,  if  you  were  in  the  land  of  the  living.  I 
should  have  done  so  earlier,  I  admit.  But  — " 
He  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  left  the  sentence 
unfinished.  "You  will  find  the  contents  intact, 
I  believe :  two  seal  rings,  a  small  ebony  cross 


THE   BOX  67 

bearing  upon  a  silver  bar  the  initials  L.  D.,  and 
an  uncut  stone  —  a  sapphire,  I  think." 

He  gave  the  box,  with  an  exaggerated  bow, 
into  the  outstretched  hand.  Madame  de  Laussan 
opened  it  with  eager  fingers,  and  took  out  one 
by  one  the  objects  mentioned. 

"  And  —  the  letter  ?  "  she  asked,  her  voice 
dropped  to  an  agonized  whisper. 

"  Oh,  there  was  a  letter  ?  Since  you  mention  it, 
I  remember  there  was  a  letter."  His  smile  was 
somewhat  overdone.  "  Let  me  see,  from  —  the 
name  of  the  writer  has  slipped  my  memory  for 
the  moment.  It  was  addressed  to  you  ?  Yes,  so 
it  was." 

"  Monsieur  Cortland,"  —  Madame  de  Laussan 
had  suddenly  pulled  herself  together ;  she  spoke 
quietly,  and  with  a  coolness  which  surpassed  his 
own,  —  "you  can  have  but  one  motive  in  with- 
holding a  paper  in  which  you  have  no  personal 
interest.  I  hesitate  to  charge  you  with  that  mo- 
tive, even  now,  knowing  at  last  that  you  are  the 
son  of  your  father.  If  I  am  mistaken,  I  ask  your 
forgiveness.  Your  appearance,  your  story,  have 
brought  back  to  me  memories  which  —  But  no 
matter.  Am  I  right,  monsieur,  in  suggesting 


68  THE  PRICE  OF  SILENCE 

that  you  desire  in  exchange  for  the  letter  which 
you  have  in  your  hand" —  Cortland  had  drawn 
from  his  breast  pocket  a  yellowed,  oblong  slip  of 
paper  with  dark  seal,  and  was  holding  it  ostenta- 
tiously —  "a  consideration ?  " 

Cortland  laughed  recklessly ;  the  veneer  of 
refinement  had  dropped  from  him,  body  and  soul, 
like  a  garment.  He  looked  vulgar  and  common- 
place in  his  unmeet  garb ;  his  eyes  leered  satyr- 
like  between  thin,  half -closed  lids. 

"  You  are  quite  correct,  madame,"  he  said, 
again  bowing  low  before  her ;  "  as  I  am  not,  my- 
self, the  member  of  an  old  Creole  family,  I  need 
not  beat  about  the  bush.  This  letter,  which,  as 
you  are  aware,  affects  the  happiness,  the  social 
standing,  of  Miss  Noemie  de  Laussan  Carring- 
ton,"  —  the  ugly  sneer  curled  his  lip,  —  "this 
important  document  is  —  for  —  sale." 

Madame  de  Laussan  stiffened  perceptibly. 

"  Blackmail  ?  Certainly  !  You  can  buy  it,  or 
Major  Grandchamps,  your  fastidious  kinsman, 
within  forty-eight  hours.  Otherwise  a  copy  of  it, 
attested,  will  be  mailed  to  every  family  in  your 
aristocratic  circle  before  —  " 

"  What  is  your  price  ?  "  interrupted  Madame 


THE  BOX  69 

de  Laussan  curtly.  Cortland,  hardened  as  he  was, 
dropped  his  eyes  before  the  undisguised  contempt 
in  hers.  But  his  effrontery  returned  immediately. 

"  My  price  ?  The  document  goes  dirt-cheap 
to  the  owner  of  the  de  Laussan  diamonds,  which 
the  Yankee  captain  failed  to  find  !  My  price  is 
twenty  thousand  dollars." 

Madame  de  Laussan's  hand  on  the  back  of  the 
chair  beside  her  tightened  its  grasp ;  her  throat 
contracted;  she  remained  silent.  Cortland,  amazed 
at  his  own  audacity,  watched  her,  in  a  panic  lest 
he  had,  after  all,  overreached  himself. 

"I  will  give  you  fifteen  thousand  dollars." 

The  words  came  in  the  even,  measured  voice 
which  the  speaker  was  wont  to  use.  The  man 
recognized  finality  in  the  business-like  tone. 
"After  all,"  he  reflected,  "fifteen  thousand  is 
not  bad.  Gad,  I  can  splurge  on  what  is  left  after 
my  debts  of  honor  —  Besides,  there  may  be  an- 
other throw." 

"  The  letter  is  worth  twice  that  sum,  madame," 
he  said  aloud.  "  But  considering  the  anguish  you 
suffered  —  forty  years  ago  —  at  the  hands  of  my 
father,  I  accept  —  as  a  compromise  —  your  of- 
fer." 


70  THE  PRICE  OF  SILENCE 

A  movement  of  the  head  indicated  the  assent 
of  his  victim. 

"  It  is  now  eleven  o'clock,"  —  he  took  out  his 
watch,  —  "  eleven  o'clock,  Tuesday.  At  this  hour 
on  Saturday  next,  —  giving  you,  as  you  see,  plenty 
of  time, — I  will,  as  the  collectors  say,  call  again. 
Or  stay,  I  have  an  engagement  at  that  hour. 
Shall  we  say  three  in  the  afternoon  ?  Very  well. 
Pray  present  my  compliments  to  Miss  Noemie. 
She  was  quite  the  belle  at  the  opera  last  night." 

Madame  de  Laussan  had  seated  herself,  and, 
with  her  face  turned  to  the  fire,  was  apparently 
unconscious  of  his  presence.  He  stood  about 
awkwardly.  "  Cash  money,  madame,  remem- 
ber ! "  He  tapped  the  letter,  which  gave  out  a 
whispering  rustle  under  his  touch,  and  returned 
it  to  his  pocket.  He  took  out  his  cigarette  case. 
To  his  own  astonishment,  he  found  himself 
ashamed  to  light  the  cigarette  between  his  teeth. 
He  swaggered  to  the  door,  but  came  back  and 
planted  himself,  feet  wide  apart,  on  the  rug  be- 
side the  armchair  and  its  occupant.  "  Say,"  he 
said,  looking  down  at  the  still  figure,  "  on  second 
thoughts,  I  will  take  that  money  in  two  pay- 
ments. Seven  and  a  half  thousand  Saturday  at 


THE  BOX  71 

three  o'clock ;  seven  and  a  half  thousand  —  let 
me  see — this  is  November  seventeenth;  Decem- 
ber, January,"  —  he  checked  the  months  off  on 
his  fingers,  —  "the  remaining  seven  and  a  half 
thousand  at  the  end  of  five  months,  namely,  on 
the  seventeenth  of  April,  nineteen  hundred  and 
three,  at  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon.  In  the 
mean  time,"  he  added  insolently,  "my  footing 
in  the  house  will  remain  —  undisturbed." 

Madame  de  Laussan  had  reached  the  limit  of 
endurance ;  she  touched  a  bell.  "  Conduct  mon- 
sieur," she  said  to  the  man  servant  when  he  ap- 
peared. "Until  Saturday,  Monsieur  Cortland," 
she  added,  forcing  a  smile. 


VI 

A   FRUITLESS    STROLL 

MAXIME  ALLARD,  Captain  U.  S.  A., 
walked  with  a  loitering  step,  unusual  to 
him,  along  Rue  Royale.  He  stopped  to  gaze  into 
the  show-windows  of  monts  de  piete,  seeming  to 
the  passers-by,  doubtless,  to  be  speculating  on  the 
history  of  necklet,  prayer-beads,  or  pendant  ear- 
ring,— plainly  once  the  property  of  some  reduced 
gentlewoman  of  the  Quarter.  He  glanced  in  the 
antique  shops  which  line  the  way  of  the  ancient 
thoroughfare ;  he  lingered  on  one  corner  to  buy 
a  boutonniere,  and  upon  another  to  bandy  com- 
pliments with  the  leathery-looking  Toto,  praline- 
seller,  whom  he  remembered  from  his  Jesuit 
College  days.  He  made  small  headway  in  his 
journey,  wherever  that  might  tend.  The  truth 
is,  the  youthful  officer  was  following  Hope,  the 
bright-footed,  often,  alas,  the  deceitful.  It  was 
but  reasonable  to  suppose  —  given  an  afternoon 
like  this,  with  a  hazy,  lazy  sun  overhead,  and  a 


A  FRUITLESS   STROLL  73 

Gulf  wind  just  moist  enough  to  freshen  her 
cheeks  —  that  Miss  Carrington  would  be  abroad. 
He  walked  back,  a  block  or  two,  toward  Canal 
Street,  rapidly,  as  if  he  had  forgotten  something, 
or  left  his  umbrella  against  a  counter,  and 
returned  loitering  as  before,  buying  a  fresh 
boutonniere  and  dropping  other  nickels  into 
Toto's  basket.  Finally,  with  a  glance  of  dis- 
couragement at  the  de  Laussan  mansion  across 
the  way,  particularly  at  those  upper  windows 
(closed)  which  might  be  Noemie's  own,  he  walked 
on.  It  was  possible — he  hastened  his  steps  at 
the  thought  —  that  Noemie  might  be  in  the 
Cathedral  St.  Louis.  He  smiled,  remembering  a 
devout  little  Noemie,  giving  thanks  before  the 
altar  for  the  recovery  of  her  doll  from  the 
measles,  for  the  return  of  Sirene's  lost  St.  Joseph 
in  his  leaden  box,  for  the  lesson  learned,  the  scale 
accomplished !  But  Noemie  was  not  in  the  dim 
old  cathedral.  The  promenade  had  now  become 
aimless.  "It  will  not  be  for  to-day,"  the  captain 
at  last  admitted  with  a  sigh.  At  that  moment, 
glancing  along  a  side  street,  he  saw  the  de  Laus- 
san carriage  with  its  dun-colored  horses,  'Polyte 
on  the  box,  waiting,  doubtless,  for  Miss  Carring- 


74  THE  PEICE  OF  SILENCE 

ton  at  her  dressmaker's.  He  strolled  nonchalantly 
along  the  opposite  banquette.  But,  certainly, 
Noemie  would  be  coming  out  presently  ! 

The  thought  had  hardly  leaped  exultant  into 
his  mind  when  the  door,  which  he  watched  from 
the  corner  of  his  eye,  opened,  and  Madame  de 
Laussan  appeared,  leaning  upon  the  arm  of  Si- 
rene;  it  seemed  to  Allard  that  she  leaned  heavily. 
A  middle-aged  man  accompanied  her,  bareheaded, 
to  the  carriage ;  he  leaned  in  after  her  to  place 
on  the  seat  beside  her  an  oblong  packet.  Sirene 
entered  the  carriage,  the  door  closed,  and  the 
horses  moved  away.  The  man  stood  on  his  door- 
step until  the  carriage  turned  the  corner,  then 
passed  up  the  steps  of  the  house,  a  tall  brick 
building  whose  quaint  iron-railed  balconies  hung 
over  the  street.  Allard's  eyes  came  back  to  the 
opposite  door ;  he  gave  an  involuntary  start  of 
surprise.  The  man  entering  leisurely  was  Theo- 
phile  Bandrot,  the  well-known  money-lender. 
Why,  thought  Allard,  why  should  Madame  de 
Laussan,  whose  affairs  were  in  the  hands  of  so 
sound  and  astute  a  lawyer  as  Alcide  Paturin,  be 
visiting  the  money-lender?  and  at  his  own  house, 
as  if  upon  some  business  demanding  a  secrecy 


A  FRUITLESS   STROLL  75 

his  office  could  not  guarantee  ?  Why  should 
Madame  de  Laussan,  at  her  advanced  age,  be 
out  on  such  an  errand?  Bandrot  was  honest 
enough,  doubtless,  but,  like  his  kind  in  general, 
unquestionably  sharp.  After  all,  Madame  de 
Laussan  might  reasonably  wish  to  drop  some  of 
her  own  money  into  the  fire,  — a  foolishly  expen- 
sive gift  to  Noemie,  or  a  loan  to  that  gay  spend- 
thrift, Felix  Monplaisir,  —  without  having  to 
enter  into  explanations  with  old  Paturin  ! 

On  his  way  back  to  Canal  Street,  he  was  re- 
warded for  his  promenade  —  and  chagrined  —  by 
an  all  too  brief  glimpse  of  Hope  in  visible  form. 
She  was  in  an  open  landau  with  some  people 
whom  he  did  not  know.  She  gave  him  a  pretty 
bow  in  passing. 

A  little  later,  the  hotel  de  Laussan,  which  for 
the  time  being  ceased  to  interest  him,  came  into 
view.  A  young  man,  whom  he  vaguely  remem- 
bered as  having  seen  somewhere,  was  entering  the 
street  door.  Allard  rather  envied  the  ease  with 
which  the  stranger  passed  over  the  threshold  and 
stepped  along  the  corridor. 

The  stranger  was  Cortland ;  and  this  was  Sat- 
urday, three  o'clock. 


VII 

AT  PETITPAIN'S 

T3ETITPAIN  stood  somewhat  apart,  hunched 
-*-  against  one  of  the  enormous  heaps  of  dusty 
French  prints,  sheet  music,  newspapers  bound 
and  unbound,  school  atlases,  and  the  like,  which 
cluttered  the  floor  of  his  shop.  He  regarded 
with  gloomy  and  jealous  eyes  the  two  customers 
who  had  pounced  upon  a  vellum  copy  of  Theo- 
critus, dragging  it  with  profane  hands  from  its 
shelf,  and  were  turning  its  yellowed  pages,  their 
heads  close  together.  The  old  bookseller's  shoul- 
ders worked  convulsively,  and  from  time  to  time 
he  extended  a  bony  hand  as  if  to  possess  himself 
by  violence  of  the  book. 

It  is  a  fact  well  known  to  the  French  Quarter 
that  Petitpain  will  sell  you  a  (second-hand)  copy 
of  "Le  Maitre  des  Forges,"  or  of  "  L'  Assommoir," 
or  even  of  the  "Legendes  des  Siecles;"  he  will 
exchange  with  amiable  alacrity  old  schoolbooks 
and  maps  for  other  old  schoolbooks  and  maps. 
Petitpain's  second-hand  bookshop,  at  the  begin- 


AT   PETITPAIN'S  77 

ning  of  the  school  year,  may  be  said,  indeed,  to 
rival  in  feverish  activity  the  Cotton  Exchange, 
or  the  Sugar  Market !  Such  crowding  in  and 
elbowing  about  of  the  blue-clad  pupils  of  the 
Sacre  Coaur  and  the  gray-clad  students  of  the 
Jesuits ;  such  shrill  altercations  between  the  or- 
phans and  half-orphans  of  the  Holy  Family  and 
the  small  swashbucklers  of  the  Parochial  School ; 
such  squabbling  between  L'Ecole  St.  Jean  and 
L' Academic  Privee  of  Madame  Vve  Rivoire;  such 
battles  royal  over  mappes-de-monde  ;  such  sudden 
and  unaccountable  relapses  into  decorum  and 
camaraderie,  followed  by  such  clamors  of  appeal 
to  Monsieur  Petitpain,  hard-bestead  where  he 
stands  under  volleys  of  supplicating  voices,  and 
even  battering-rams  of  curly  little  heads !  It 
might  well  be  imagined  that  the  bookseller, 
scowling  yonder  at  his  two  customers,  would  at 
such  times  breathe  enough  fire  and  slaughter  to 
burn  up  his  own  shop  and  decimate  the  schools 
of  the  Vieux  Carre,  Not  a  bit  of  it !  Petitpain, 
presiding  over  the  destinies  of  chattering  grade- 
climbers,  is  as  nearly  benignant  as  a  dried-up  bag 
of  bachelor-bones  can  be,  Mais,  c'est  un  ange, 
ce  cher  Monsieur  Petitpain  I 


78  THE  PRICE  OF  SILENCE 

Petitpain  confronting  the  invader  who  has 
had  the  temerity  to  offer  to  buy  one  of  his  real 
books,  ah,  c'est  autre  chose,  ga.  God  knows  what 
he  is  keeping  them  for,  those  myriads  of  volumes 
of  all  sorts  and  conditions  of  paper  and  parch- 
ment, black-letter  and  illumination,  tumbled  pro- 
miscuously about  untidy  nooks,  and  piled  upon 
unreachable  shelves.  Collectors  say  that  the  lot 
would  fetch  a  tidy  sum,  —  enough  to  "keep" 
Petitpain  for  the  rest  of  his  days;  or  rather  it 
should  be  stated  that  collectors  have  in  times 
past  said  this ;  nowadays  these  sharp-nosed  indi- 
viduals have  no  chance  at  Petitpain's  treasures ; 
Petitpain  has  eyes  in  the  back  of  his  head  for  a 
collector ;  his  shutters  have  been  known  to  stay 
up  for  three  days  upon  the  mere  casual  "good- 
morning  "  (with  a  rapier-like  dart  of  the  connois- 
seur-eye about  the  shop)  of  a  collector.  It  is 
believed  in  Frenchtown  that  Petitpain  will  rather 
starve  than  sell  a  fraction  of  one  of  those  never- 
opened  books,  which  he  loves  as  if  they  were  the 
children  he  has  never  had. 

The  old  man  continued  to  glare  offensively  at 
Miss  Carrington  and  Captain  Allard,  who  remained 
utterly  oblivious  of  his  presence  even  ;  they  were 


AT  PETITPAIN'S  79 

perhaps  equally  unmindful  of  the  discolored  leaves 
they  turned.  The  day  without  was  lowering; 
the  wide,  low-ceilinged  shop  was  laid  in  gray 
shadows,  deepening  with  the  waning  afternoon. 
The  young  couple,  over  against  the  dark  old  man, 
lean  and  bent,  and  surrounded  by  musty  pyra- 
mids of  books  and  mountains  of  unsorted  rub- 
bish, were  like  chance  visitants  from  some  dis- 
tant, radiant  world.  They  looked  at  each  other 
across  the  fat  little  Theocritus. 

"  Theocritus,"  remarked  Allard,  finally  aware  of 
Petitpain's  existence.  "I  will  buy  the  jolly  little 
beggar  of  a  book,  Noe —  Miss  Carrington,  be- 
cause— "  He  left  the  sentence  unfinished,  but 
his  eyes  said  plainly,  "  because  I  found  you  by 
chance  in  this  heavenly  shop." 

"How  much,  monsieur?"  he  asked,  turning  to 
the  proprietor. 

"  That  ?  That  is  not  worth  the  considera- 
tion of  a  gentleman  like  you,  Monsieur  le  Capi- 
taine." 

Petitpain  strove  to  hide  his  anxiety,  remember- 
ing the  days  when  le  petit  Allard  never  failed  to 
carry  off,  under  anybody's  nose,  what  he  wanted 
out  of  that  shop!  He  took  the  book  out  of 


80  THE  PRICE  OF  SILENCE 

Allard's  hand,  and  thrust  it  into  his  own  coat 
pocket.  "  Monsieur  Maxime  and  Mademoiselle 
Carr-rreeng-ton  will  prefer,  I  am  sure,  —  "  his  eyes 
roved  vaguely  about,  —  "this.  But,  certainly," 
—  he  darted  upon  a  large,  much-soiled  copy  of 
Buffon's  "  Natural  History,"  and  held  it  out 
almost  supplicatingly. 

"Not  at  all,"  remonstrated  Allard,  "I — made- 
moiselle prefers  Theocritus." 

"  Theocritus  is  not  for  sale,  monsieur,"  snorted 
Petitpain.  He  retired  to  the  rear  of  the  shop, 
whence  he  kept  a  wary  eye  upon  le  petit  Allard, 
who  was  capable,  oh,  but  of  any  villainy,  mon 
Dieu  I 

Allard  had  already  forgotten  Theocritus.  "I 
can  hardly  believe  my  own  good  luck,"  he  was 
saying  for  the  third  or  fourth  time;  "I  have 
fairly  haunted  Royal  Street  from  opera  night  to 
opera  night,  in  the  hope  of  seeing  you.  Last 
night  you  were  not  in  your  box,  and  I,  block- 
head that  I  was,  had  stayed  away  from  the  Heron 
dance,  and,  behold,  you  were  at  the  Heron  dance. 
But  now,  when  I  had  almost  given  up  ever  seeing 
you  again,  I  find  you — " 

"  In  Royal  Street,"  smiled  Noe'mie. 


AT  PETITPAIN'S  81 

"  Blessed  Royal  Street ! " 

"  Oh,  Maxime  !  "cried  Noemie  suddenly,  "  why 
did  you  go  to  West  Point?  Why  did  you  enter 
that  United  States  Army  ?  " 

"  Why  ? "  Allard's  head  went  up  proudly. 
"  Because  I  wished  to  serve  my  country.  For, 
look  you,  Noemie,  we  are  all  one  country  now. 
My  father  fought  for  the  Confederacy ;  so  did 
yours.  They  served  their  country ;  why  should 
I  not  serve  my  country  and  theirs  ?  " 

"  How  brave  you  are  !  "  cried  Noemie,  bright- 
ening. "Also,  I  think  you  are  right.  But  why 
should  I  say  it !  My  opinion  means  nothing  to> 
you.  You  do  not  come  —  " 

"  Noemie  !  "  Allard's  reproachful  tone  was 
tempered  by  rapture.  "Don't  you  see?  You 
know  that  when  my  father  allowed  me  to  enter 
West  Point,  1'oncle  Grandchamps  was  outraged ; 
he  said  that  my  father  had  disgraced  his  record 
as  a  Confederate  soldier ;  my  father  said  that  Ma- 
jor Grandchamps  was  a  coward  and  a  polisson," 
—  Allard  laughed  a  little  ruefully.  "  The  two  old 
fellows,  who  had  slept  under  the  same  blanket, 
and  fought  side  by  side  all  through  our  Civil 
War,  were  ready  to  cut  one  another's  throats. 


82  THE  PRICE   OF  SILENCE 

They  are  at  it  yet,  bless  'em !  Major  Grand- 
champs  says  that  the  doors  of  the  fainille  Grand- 
champs,  far  and  near,  are  closed  to  the  famille 
Allard,  far  and  near.  There  we  are.  I  find  it 
all  absurd  myself,  but  I  stand  by  the  famille 
Allard.  Besides,"  he  sighed,  "I  am  sure  my 
uniform  would  make  me  hateful  to  the  eyes  of 
Madame  de  Laussan  —  dear  tante  Laure.  But," 
he  brightened,  "the  Grandchamps- Allard  feud 
does  not  keep  me  from  being  friends,  and  fast 
friends,  with  Jeanne  Berthet,  and  Felix  Mon- 
plaisir,  and  the  others ;  it  need  not  keep  me  from 
lov —  from  liking  you,  need  it  ?  Anyway,  I  spend 
much  of  the  time  which  belongs  of  right  to  my 
Uncle  Sam,"  —  Noemie  looked  mystified, — "the 
United  States  Government,  I  mean,  hanging 
around  in  the  hope  of  seeing  you." 

"Tom  Masters  is  going  up  to  his  uncle's 
plantation  next  week,"  Noemie  remarked,  with 
apparent  irrelevancy. 

"  Yes?  "  said  Allard,  taken  aback  and  a  little 
chilled  by  the  abrupt  change  in  the  conversa- 
tion. 

Noemie,  whose  eyes  were  fixed  on  a  stunted 
fig  tree  in  Petitpain's  courtyard,  continued,  "I 


AT  PETITPAIN'S  83 

am  having  a  sugarhouse  party  at  Lady's  Rule 
next  week  —  " 

"Ah!"  breathed  Allard. 

"Jeanne  is  going,  and  Frances  Heron,  and 
Felix  Monplaisir,  and  perhaps  Mr.  Strang.  Ma- 
dame Berthet,  my  cousin,  will  chaperone  the 
party.  Mr.  Cortland  also  goes." 

"Cortland!"  echoed  Allard.    "Why?" 

"Why?"  said  Noe'mie  gayly.  "Why?  Is  not 
Mr.  Cortland  handsome?  Is  he  not  fascinating? 
Is  he  not  —  The  truth  is,  Maxime,  though  Mr. 
Cortland  is  all  this,  I  should  not  myself  have 
thought  of  including  him.  But  my  grandmother, 
who  has  been  very  feeble,  really  ill,  indeed,  this 
past  fortnight,  has  asked  him.  She  has  requested 
me  to  be  'nice'  to  him"  —  she  dropped  into 
English  for  the  word.  "  Dear  me,  I  must  be 
going  ;  or  Sirene  will  be  haunting  Royal  Street 
—  like  some  one  else."  She  smiled  bewitchingly. 
"  You  may  walk  with  me  as  far  as  the  Cathedral. 
I  am  making  a  novena." 


"  For  the  softening  of  1'oncle  Grandchamps' 
heart." 

Petitpain  came  to  the  door  and  peered  after 


84  THE  PRICE  OF  SILENCE 

them  as  they  walked  away.  He  had  taken  the 
fat  little  book  from  his  pocket,  and  was  caressing 
it  with  a  lean  palm. 

"  But,  he  is  a  madman,  le  petit  Allard,"  he 
muttered;  "Theocritus!" 


VIII 

AT  LADY'S  RULE 

WHO  wishes  to  tour  the  sugarhouse  this 
morning?"  demanded  Noemie  Carring- 
ton,  from  the  doorway  of  the  music  room  at 
Lady's  Rule.  She  stood  on  the  threshold,  a-tip- 
toe,  like  a  bird  poised  for  flight. 

"  I  do,"  cried  Frances  Heron,  springing  to  her 
feet,  her  thimble,  scissors,  and  embroidery  frame 
dropping  with  a  clatter  to  the  bare  floor. 

"  I  do,"  echoed  Jeanne  Berthet,  swinging 
slowly  around  on  the  piano  stool. 

Monplaisir  nodded  without  raising  his  eyes 
from  his  newspaper. 

Donald  Strang,  touching  the  strings  of  his  gui- 
tar, finished  the  bit  of  song  on  his  lip  :  — 

La  vie  est  breve : 
Un  pen  d'espoir, 
Un  pen  de  reve, 
Et  puts  —  bonsoir. 

His  eyes  twinkled ;  "  Lead  on,  mesdemoiselles  ; 
where  the  roses  go,  there  follows  the  bee." 


86  THE  PRICE   OF  SILENCE 

Cortland  lounged  forward  ;  he  contrived  with- 
out saying  a  word  to  convey  the  impression  that 
the  "  tour  "  had  been  planned  between  himself 
and  the  young  chatelaine  of  Lady's  Rule ;  he 
placed  himself  beside  her  with  an  air  of  comrade- 
ship as  they  all  came  out  upon  the  wide,  white- 
pillared  gallery  of  the  plantation  house. 

The  smell  of  boiling  sugar  floated  out,  warm 
and  sweet,  from  the  sugarhouse  beyond  the  in- 
tervening grounds. 

"  How  it  is  delicious,  that  smell !  "  said  Jeanne, 
her  little  nose  sniffing  the  air. 

The  crispness  of  a  mid-December  forenoon 
was  fast  yielding  to  the  warmth  of  the  climbing 
sun  ;  but  dewdrops  still  glistened,  diamond-wise, 
upon  the  unshorn  grass-blades  on  the  lawn 
which  sloped  gently  down  to  the  reedy  edge  of 
Bayou  Noir ;  they  ran  in  glistening  rivulets  from 
the  broad-fringed  banana  leaves  shading  the  Long 
Walk  with  the  lily-pool  at  the  farther  end. 
From  the  sugarhouse,  and  from  the  canefields 
stretching  out  to  the  horizon,  there  came  the 
subdued  echoes  of  pounding  machinery,  and  the 
steady  whoof!  whoof!  of  the  smoke  leaping  in 
black  jets  from  the  huge  chimneys  ;  and  the  min- 


AT  LADY'S  RULE  87 

gled  clatter  of  harness  and  whip-snap,  the  creak  of 
high-wheeled  cane  wagons,  the  shouts  of  over- 
seers, and  the  far-away  rhythmic  chorus  of  the 
cane-cutters. 

Donald  Strang's  eyes  brooded  over  the  scene ; 
he  made  a  tentative  step  toward  his  easel,  set  up 
on  a  corner  of  the  gallery  with  a  virgin  canvas 
upon  it ;  but  he  thought  better  of  it.  "  Un  pen 
de  reve,"  he  chanted  under  his  breath,  following 
Noernie. 

In  the  rose-garden  toward  the  rear  of  the 
house  Uncle  Mink  was  singing  monotonously  to 
the  thump  of  his  spade  :  —  ' 

/  met  a  'possum  in  de  road  ; 

He  'umble  'peared  to  be  ; 
He  scrape'  his  foot  an'  bow'  his  haid, 

A  n'  gin  de  road  to  me. 

As  Noemie  and  her  guests  descended  the  steps, 
Madame  Berthet  came  around  the  corner  of  the 
gallery,  garden  shears  in  hand.  "  Noemie,  my 
child,"  she  drawled,  "you  really  must  speak  to 
Uncle  Mink.  He  has  been  seeing  double  in  the 
Quarters.  Zette  is  so  terrified  that  she  has  left 
her  ironing  and  is  hiding  under  the  cabin.  The 
housekeeper  is  furious.  I  am  furious  myself." 


88  THE  PRICE   OF  SILENCE 

"  You  certainly  look  it,  poor  dear,"  laughed 
Noemie,  stooping  to  drop  a  kiss  on  Madame's 
bared  head  as  she  passed.  "  Don't  worry, 
marraine.  Run  along  to  your  pot  pourri.  I 
will  attend  to  Uncle  Mink."  She  flitted  away. 

The  singing  ceased  abruptly ;  it  was  followed, 
judging  from  echoed  tones  and  an  occasional  out- 
drifted  word,  by  an  argument  in  which  the  old 
man  was  plainly  worsted.  His  mistress  presently 
reappeared,  gayly  caroling  the  forbidden  ditty  :  — 

/  met  a  'possum  in  de  road, 
He  'umble  'peared  to  be. 

"  Beg  pardon,  Miss  Carrington,"  called  a  voice 
from  behind  the  high  cherokee  rose-hedge,  as 
they  approached  the  division  gate.  "Is  that  sar- 
castic allusion  meant  for  me  ?  or,  by  chance,  for 
the  arrogant  Allard,  U.  S.  A.  ?  " 

Two  horsemen,  who  had  dismounted  and  tossed 
their  bridle-reins  to  a  grinning  pair  of  picka- 
ninnies, appeared  in  the  gateway. 

"  You  arrive  apropos  !  "  Miss  Carrington  nod- 
ded a  neighborly  greeting  to  Masters  and  lifted 
surprised  eyes  at  Allard.  "  When  did  you  come  ?  " 
she  asked  the  latter  ingenuously,  "  and  how  de- 
lightful for  us  that  you  should  { happen  up '  to 


AT  LADY'S   RULE  89 

Godiva  Plantation,  as  old  Mr.  Masters  would  say, 
while  we  are  at  Lady's  Rule ;  or  are  you  at 
Godiva?" 

Allard  explained  elaborately  that  government 
service  had  brought  him  for  twenty-four  hours 
into  the  neighborhood.  "  Tom's  uncle  was  kind 
enough  to  take  me  in,"  he  concluded,  "al- 
though the  old  gentleman  disapproves  of  my 
uniform." 

"  He,  too ! "  commented  Strang.  "  Really,  Max- 
ime,  my  friend,  it  begins  to  look  as  if  you  might 
yet  be  called  out  by  a  battalion  of  Confederate 
graybeards." 

"  The  first  right  belongs,  it  appears  —  accord- 
ing to  the  code — to  the  colonel,  my  father,  as 
head  of  the  house,"  laughed  Allard.  "He  and 
Major  Grandchamps  have  been  perilously  near 
an  encounter  over  the  matter  Allard  fils  more 
than  once  these  several  years.  By  Jove,  I  honestly 
believe  those  gray  old  boys  are  itching  to  stick 
one  another  with  the  colichemardes  of  dans  le 
temps."  His  mirth  held  the  under-thought  of  a 
sigh.  The  presence  of  Cortland  at  Lady's  Rule, 
on  a  footing  so  familiar,  disturbed  him  by  its 
contrast  to  his  own  momentary,  half-surreptitious 


90  THE  PRICE  OF  SILENCE 

advent  there.  He  was  too  straightforward  to 
deny  even  to  himself  his  awakening  jealousy  of 
Cortland. 

"Why  is  this  plantation  called  Lady's  Rule?" 
asked  Miss  Heron,  as  they  all  moved  on. 

"Why?  It  used  to  be  Rose-Marie  Plantation," 
replied  Masters,  "or  was  it  Blanche?  Something, 
anyway,  which  suggested  the  dove-eyed  Lady 
who  bides  at  home  and  makes  orange-flower  con- 
serve, while  her  Lord  goes  down  to  that  wicked 
New  Orleans  to  sell  his  crop." 

"  How  the  id£e  americaine  is  different !  as 
Mademoiselle  Berthet  would  put  it,"  remarked 
Strang.  "Mr.  Richard  Carrington —  doubtless 
with  prophetic  eyes  —  foresaw  that  the  present 
mistress  of  the  plantation  would  be  a  —  in  short, 
a  termagant.  Therefore  he  changed  its  name  to 
one  more  in  keeping  with  her  character.  He  called 
it  Lady's  Rule." 

The  mistress  of  Lady's  Rule  made  a  face  at 
him  over  her  shoulder. 

"  Jeanne,"  said  Allard,  "  let  me  see  the  color 
of  your  eyes.  Ah,  dove-colored !  I  thought  so. 
Masters  would  like  to  inquire  whether  you  are 
—  also  —  an  adept  at  orange  conserve." 


AT  LADY'S   RULE  91 

"For  myself,"  cried  Donald,  "I  prefer  the 
style  termagant  —  with  a  plantation,  of  course." 
He  touched  the  guitar  strings  as  he  spoke,  and 
trolled  on :  — 

Dot  'umble  'possum  bow*  his  haid 

An'  made  a  cunjer-sign. 
"  /  kin  lay  low  an'  wait,"  he  say, 
"  Ontwel  de  yearth  is  mine" 

"Me,  I  find  that  'possum  a  most  intelligent 
beast,"  mused  Jeanne  aloud ;  "he  has  the  know- 
ledge to  lie  low  and  wait.  That  is  what  you  call 
a  lesson,  hein  ?  " 

Allard  felt  suddenly  light  of  heart.  He  stole 
a  glance  at  the  speaker.  But  her  eyes  were  fixed 
upon  Cortland. 

Cortland,  on  the  appearance  of  the  visitors 
from  Godiva,  had  withdrawn  into  the  black- 
browed  silence  which  he  instinctively  felt  to  be 
his  stronghold,  and  which,  he  had  long  ago 
learned,  gave  him  a  mysterious  charm  in  the  eyes 
of  women.  Nevertheless  he  raged  inwardly  at  his 
inability  to  add  his  part  to  the  light  chaff  float- 
ing airily  about  him. 

"  Mr.  Masters,"  said  Noemie,  when  they  had 
crossed  the  threshold  of  the  vast  sugarhouse, 


92  THE  PRICE  OF  SILENCE 

"  you  are  fresh  from  centrifugals  and  '  takes ; ' 
my  guests  are  thirsting  for  information.  Please 
see  that  they  —  " 

"Enter  with  the  cane,  and  come  out  with 
the  commodity?  I  will,"  smiled  Masters.  He 
led  the  way  in  company  with  the  manager  of 
Lady's  Rule,  who  had  come  forward  to  meet 
them. 

"As  a  mere  woman,"  observed  Noemie,  "I 
disapprove  of  science  in  sugar-making,  and  yearn 
backward  for  the  open  kettle  and  cuite.  As  a 
planter,  I  am  of  course  ready,  after  the  fashion  of 
my  fellow  planters,  to  spend  everything  I  make 
each  year  on  experimental  and  expensive  machin- 
ery for  the  next  (possible)  crop." 

The  manager,  a  careworn  man  of  middle  age, 
smiled  understandingly  at  his  employer. 

"Here,"  explained  Masters,  mainly  for  the 
benefit  of  Miss  Heron  and  Cortland,  who  had 
never  seen  the  process,  "is  the  beginning."  They 
had  reentered  the  long,  open  shed  flanked  by  bul- 
warks of  high- wheeled  cane-wagons.  The  inclined 
platform  into  which  the  shining  stalks  of  purple 
and  yellow  cane  were  flung  fresh  from  the  fields 
mounted  endlessly  toward  the  enormous  crushers 


AT  LADY'S   RULE  93 

on  the  second  floor  of  the  sugarhouse.  Thence, 
past  rushing  rivers  of  grass-green  cane  juice, 
along  monstrous  vats  where  the  boiling  juice 
foamed  and  seethed  beneath  overlying  clouds  of 
white  vapor,  around  towering  centrifugals  filled 
with  whirling  masses  of  chemically-changing 
ooze,  Masters  brought  the  group  at  length  to  the 
shafts  whose  mouths  were  spitting  sugar — warm, 
white,  moist  —  into  the  barrels  on  the  ground- 
floor  far  below.  He  turned  to  put  a  question  to 
a  grimy  workman.  Allard  leaped  past  him  with 
white  face  and  staring  eyes. 

The  plaited  skirt  of  Noemie  Carrington's  light 
woolen  gown,  caught,  as  if  by  an  invisible  hand, 
had  fluttered  out,  and  curled  itself  about  a  flying 
band  which  whirled  from  one  gigantic  wheel  to 
another.  The  girl's  slight  form,  drawn  after  it, 
was  jerked  violently  upward ;  her  long  hair,  loosed 
from  its  fastenings,  whipped  like  flames  about 
her  face  and  neck,  then  shot  out  as  if  magnetized. 
Quicker  than  thought,  Allard's  arms  were  about 
her;  he  threw  himself  backward  with  a  force 
which  tore  the  skirt  from  its  belt  and  ripped  it 
with  a  snap  from  top  to  hem.  The  pale-gray 
folds,  among  which  glistened  a  few  hairs  like 


94  THE  PRICE  OF  SILENCE 

threads  of  gold,  spun  along  the  belting,  and  dis- 
appeared, a  blackened  wad,  among  the  spokes  of 
the  flying  wheels. 

The  slight  figure  lay  inert  for  a  moment  on 
Allard's  breast,  the  disheveled  head  drooped  to 
his  shoulder. 

"Your  pretty  gown,  Noemie,"  cried  Jeanne, 
hysterically,  after  an  awed  silence.  The  trivial 
remark  restored  speech  to  the  others. 

"  Lady's  Rule  owes  me  a  new  one ! "  declared 
Noemie,  with  forced  gayety.  She  shuddered, 
averting  her  eyes  from  the  huge  band.  "  I  am 
not  fit  to  be  a  sugar-planter  if  I  cannot  keep  out 
of  mischief  in  my  own  sugarhouse."  She  looked 
down  at  the  disarray  of  her  attire,  and  a  flush  of 
embarrassment  rose  to  her  pallid  cheek.  "  I  am 
not  even  a  presentable  chatelaine." 

At  the  door  of  the  music  room  she  swayed  un- 
expectedly, and  would  have  fallen.  Allard  again 
caught  her  in  his  strong  arms,  and  carried  her  to 
a  couch. 

Cortland,  who  had  sprung  forward  too  late,  saw 
the  look  in  her  beautiful  eyes  lifted  to  Allard's 
face.  He  felt  a  curious  sensation ;  a  shock  had 
passed  through  him,  leaving  him  inwardly 


AT  LADY'S  RULE  95 

stunned.  He  had  discovered,  for  the  first  time  in 
his  life,  that  to  greed  might  be  added  another 
passion,  perhaps  even  more  overpowering.  He 
found  himself  in  love  with  Noemie  Carrington. 


IX 

SEEING  DOUBLE 

THE  same  night  the  house-party,  augmented 
by  the  two  bachelors  from  Godiva  Planta- 
tion, was  assembled  again  in  the  music  room  at 
Lady's  Rule.  Mademoiselle  Berthet  was,  as  usual, 
at  the  piano  ;  Donald  Strang,  bending  over  her, 
hummed  in  an  undertone  an  accompaniment  to 
the  chords  which  grew  under  her  skilled  fingers. 
Masters,  playing  at  backgammon  with  Madame 
Berthet,  gloomed  from  time  to  time  with  open 
envy  toward  the  artist ;  his  partner,  using  her 
plump  fingers  as  an  adding  machine,  smiled  slyly, 
affecting  not  to  notice.  The  young  hostess,  still 
a  little  pale  from  the  adventure  of  the  morning, 
made  the  centre  of  a  small  group,  from  which  Miss 
Heron  and  Monplaisir  presently  drifted  away. 

Allard  was  unaccountably  silent.  "  It  must  be 
confessed,"  thought  Noemie,  "  that  silence  is  not 
so  becoming  to  Maxime  as  it  is  to  Mr.  Cortland  ; 
decidedly  it  is  not  his  metier.  Cortland  is  as 


SEEING  DOUBLE  97 

impassive  and  unconscious  in  his  dumbness  as  an 
Oriental.  Maxime  in  his  is  fidgety  and  self-con- 
scious ;  I  wonder  what  is  the  matter  with  him." 

She  glanced  furtively  from  one  to  the  other 
seated  on  either  hand. 

Her  reflections  were  disturbed  by  the  entrance 
of  Big  Hannah,  a  sort  of  under-housekeeper, 
and  the  martinet  of  the  negro  quarters.  She  was 
one  of  the  old  Carrington  slaves,  brought  out 
from  Virginia  by  Richard  Carrington  when  he 
purchased  and  stocked  the  war-dismantled  plan- 
tation on  Bayou  Noir,  which  he  rechristened 
Lady's  Rule.  She  was  also  the  grandmother  of 
Little  Hannah,  Uncle  Mink's  latest  "  bride." 

Big  Hannah's  high  turban  was  a-quiver  with 
indignation;  her  dark,  old  face  wore  a  scowl 
seldom  seen  outside  of  the  world  over  which  she 
presided  in  unquestionable  authority.  "  Miss  No- 
mee,  honey  !  "  She  addressed  her  young  mistress, 
before  whom  she  stood  in  respectful  attitude, 
with  the  affectionate  familiarity  of  the  hereditary 
family  servant.  "You  better  sen'  down  to  de 
Quarters  for  ole  Mink.  He  settin'  in  a  cheer  in 
Tildy's  cabin  wi'  Li'l  Hannah  'longside  him, 
fair  turrifyin'  dem  fool  niggers  out'n  deir  senses." 


98  THE  PRICE  OF  SILENCE 

"  You  see,  Noemie,  mon  enfant"  said  Madame 
Berthet,  looking  up  from  the  backgammon  board, 
"if  you  will  treat  Uncle  Mink  like  a  spoiled 
child  !  He  really  ought  to  be  —  " 

"  Torn  limb  from  limb,  eh,  Madame  Berthet?" 
concluded  Strang. 

"  Why,  Donald !  "  cried  the  literal  little  person ; 
"  I  would  not  countenance  anything  so  cruel ! " 

"  Send  Uncle  Mink  to  me,  Aunt  Hannah.  At 
once,"  directed  Noemie.  "I  really  don't  know 
how  to  punish  Uncle  Mink,"  she  sighed,  "  unless 
I  take  away  his  fiddle  —  which  would  break  his 
dear  old  heart." 

"  What  has  the  old  devil  been  doing?"  asked 
Masters. 

"He  has  been  ' seeing  double,'  "  laughed  Noe- 
mie, "  whatever  that  is." 

"Mon  Dieu!"  murmured  Monplaisir,  "if 
men  are  to  be  punished  for  seeing  double,  what 
will  become  of  the  purveyors  of — champagne  !  " 

"  If  a  man  is  to  be  punished  for  seeing  double," 
repeated  Masters  dreamily,  "I  fear  Donald's 
guitar  will  be  hung  up  with  Uncle  Mink's  fiddle." 

"  What  is  seeing  double  ? "  queried  Frances 
Heron. 


SEEING  DOUBLE  99 

"  To  tell  the  truth,  I  hardly  know,"  returned 
Noemie,  "although  I  have  known  of  Uncle 
Mink's  gift  ever  since  I  could  remember.  I  fancy 
it  is  something  like  second  sight,  or  throwing 
the  wanga.  However  it  may  be,  the  spell,  as  he 
calls  it,  or  the  '  sperret,'  comes  upon  him  at  irreg- 
ular intervals.  It  never  fails  to  throw  the  Quar- 
ters here,  or  the  kitchen  in  town,  into  a  panic. 
I  sometimes  suspect  that  the  old  fellow  is  after 
this  result." 

"  How  exciting !  "  cried  Frances.  "  I  feel  my- 
self shivering  on  the  edge  of  a  voodoo  rite.  Do 
let  us  see  the  prophet  perform." 

Jeanne  shrieked.  "  But  no !  He  will  have 
snakes  in  his  basket.  They  call  themselves  brothers 
to  snakes.  I  know !  My  bonne  used  to  make 
gri-gri  !  " 

A  shuffling  footstep  sounded  on  the  rear 
gallery;  a  portiere  was  drawn  aside,  and  Big 
Hannah  reappeared,  ushering  in  the  culprit.  He 
removed  a  shapeless  hat  as  he  approached,  ducked 
his  head,  and  scraped  a  conciliatory  foot,  rolling 
his  eyes  until  only  the  whites  were  visible  beneath 
his  shaggy  brows.  "  Evenin',  Miss  No-wee,"  he 
said  unctuously;  "ladies  an'  gentermen,  evenin'. 


100  THE  PRICE  OF  SILENCE 

Lawd !  li'l  miss,"  —  to  his  young  mistress,  — 
"you  cert'n'y  is  fitten  to  lead  de  squire  o'  cherry- 
bins,  in  dat  white  dress  !  " 

"  Uncle  Mink,"  interrupted  Noemie  severely, 
"  what  did  I  tell  you  this  morning  in  the  rose- 
garden  ?  " 

"  In  de  rose-gyarden  ?  I  disrememher  edzackly, 
Miss  No-mee.  But  I  knows,  in  gin'r'l,  dat  I'ze  a 
po'  sinner.  Yassum.  'N  I  was  down  yander  in 
Tildy's  cabin  —  Tildy  's  my  secon'  ma-in-law — 
er while  ago,  rastlin'  in  pra'r  fer  strenk  to  get  a 
holt  of  ole  black  Satan,  when  Big  Hannah  — 
she's  my  gran'ma-in-law, —  she  come  'sturbin' 
my  pra'r  —  " 

"  Uncle  Mink,"  threatened  Noemie  again, 
"  what  did  I  tell  you  this  morning  in  the  rose- 
garden  ?  " 

"  In  de  rose-gyarden  ?  Truf  is,  honey,  hit 
make  a  man  f ergetf  ul  to  git  married  —  specially 
fer  de  sixt'  time." 

«  Uncle  Mi—  " 

"  Yassum.  Yas'm,"  stammered  the  old  man 
piteously,  "  you  done  t-tole  me  d-d-dat  you  gwine 
ter  take  erway  my  i-i-fiddle  ef  I  —  " 

"Never  mind,  Uncle  Mink,"  interposed  Allard, 


SEEING  DOUBLE  101 

"Miss  Carrington  will  let  you  off  this  once;  this 
once,  you  understand,  you  black  rascal." 

"  Yas,  Marse  Max,  thanky,  Marse  Max,"  —  he 
grinned  expansively,  and  began  backing  away, 
bobbing  his  old  head  and  casting  sidewise  tri- 
umphant glances  at  Big  Hannah. 

"  Hold  on,  you  old  sinner  !  "  ordered  Masters ; 
"  Miss  Noemie  will  let  you  off  —  this  once  — 
if  you  will  show  these  young  ladies  how  you  can 
throw  wanga." 

"  Me !  Lawd,  Marse  Don,  I  ain't  never  tho'd 
wanga  sence  I  jined  de  chu'ch." 

"  Well,  whatever  it  is  you  do.  See  double  ? 
How  do  you  see  double?" 

" Hit 's  dess  disher  way,  Marse  Don.  I  dess  shets 
my  eyes,  an'  a  pusson  stan's  befo'  me.  Den  ef  I 
sees  double,  I  sees  ano'er  pusson  standin',  behine 
dat  pusson  lak  a  shadder.  Seein1  double,  dat 
means  trouble,"  he  concluded,  with  a  wag  of  his 
head.  "  I  kin  see  thripple,  too,"  he  added  darkly. 

"Oh!"  cried  Frances,  springing  from  her  seat, 
"  shut  your  eyes  this  minute,  and  see  if  I  have  a 
shadow  behind  me." 

The  old  man  looked  doubtfully  at  his  mistress. 
She  nodded,  smiling. 


102  THE  PRICE  OF  SILENCE 

The  seer  folded  his  arms,  the  knotted  hands 
clenched ;  hi?  sharp,  old  eyes  retired  into  an  am- 
bush of  grizzled  brows;  his  thick  lips  pushed 
outward  and  fell  apart,  revealing  red,  well-nigh 
toothless  gums. 

"  No  wonder  the  Quarters  were  in  a  commo- 
tion," whispered  Jeanne,  drawing  closer  to  the 
gathered  circle. 

Expectant  silence,  stirred  only  by  the  distant 
whooff  whoof!  from  the  sugarhouse  chimney, 
like  the  heartbeat  of  some  giant-monster,  filled 
the  room.  "  What  you  see,  Mink  ?  "  demanded 
Hannah.  With  the  awe  and  hush  of  her  voice 
there  mingled  a  suppressed  note  of  pride,  almost 
of  triumph.  It  was  as  if,  though  disapproving  of 
the  old  man's  use  of  his  gift,  she  exulted  in  his 
power.  "  What  you  see,  Mink  ?  " 

"I  don't  see  nuttin',"  was  the  response,  received 
with  a  sigh,  half  of  relief,  half  of  disappoint- 
ment. One  after  another  stepped  in  front  of  the 
thrower  of  the  wanga ;  each  time  Big  Hannah's 
question  brought  the  same  answer,  "  I  don't  see 
nuttin' ;  my  mine  an'  my  innard  eyes  is  a  vacance." 

Came  the  turn  of  Noemie.  "  What  you  see, 
Mink?" 


SEEING  DOUBLE  103 

"  I  sees  double !  Gawd  a'mighty,  I  sees  double  ! 
An'  de  shadder  is  vigrous  black  !  " 

Noemie  fell  back,  startled  in  spite  of  herself, 
uttering  a  sharp  cry. 

Mink  opened  his  eyes,  his  old  frame  shook, 
his  raised  hands  beat  the  air.  "  Gawd  !  Hit's  li'l 
miss,  hit 's  li'l  miss  !  "  he  wailed.  "  Honey-chile, 
don't  you  b'leeve  ole  Mink.  He  ain't  nuttin'  but 
a  liar!  Gawd!" 

"Why,  Uncle  Mink,"  cried  Noemie  soothingly; 
"  I  am  not  afraid  of  shadows !  Have  n't  I  got 
you  to  stand  between  me  and  any  harm  ?  Now 
you  just  shut  your  eyes  once  more." 

Strang  and  Masters  presented  themselves  with 
grimaces  of  pretended  fright.  "  I  don't  see  nut- 
tin'."  The  old  man's  voice  had  grown  sullen. 

"  I  sees  double,"  he  announced  briefly,  when 
Allard  stood  before  him.  He  would  say  no  more. 

Lastly,  Cortland  stepped  forward ;  a  contemp- 
tuous smile  curled  his  lip  as  he  faced  the  seer. 

"What  you  see,  Mink?" 

"I  sees  thripple,"  declared  Mink  solemnly ; 
"  I  sees  thripple.  Fo'  de  Lawd,  I  does." 

"What  does  that  mean?"  demanded  Frances 
curiously. 


104  THE  PRICE  OF  SILENCE 

"  Thripple  (treble),  dat  mean  de  debble,"  re- 
turned the  old  man,  with  his  eyes  still  closed.  At 
the  laugh  which  followed  this  announcement, 
his  eyes  opened  wide. 

"  You  see  treble,  do  you  ?  "  laughed  Cortland ; 
an  angry  sneer  lurked  behind  the  laugh. 

"Yas,  sir,  I  sees  thripple,"  said  Mink  dog- 
gedly. 

"  You  may  go,  Uncle  Mink,"  interposed  his 
young  mistress  hastily.  "Sit  in  your  cabin  door 
while  you  play  to-night,"  she  added,  laying  an 
affectionate  hand  on  his  arm,  "so  that  we  may 
hear  you." 

"Yas'm,  yas'm,  li'l  miss,"  he  grinned,  de- 
lighted. "  I  gwine  to  tech  up  '  Billy  in  de  low 
groun' '  er  '  Sugar  in  de  gode.'  Marse  Dick 
useter  shake  his  foot  to  dem  chimes.  Yas'm." 
He  backed  out,  his  pockets  clinking  with  the 
loose  silver  which  had  rained  into  his  rusty 
palm.  Big  Hannah  followed,  scowling  again, 
under  her  turban. 

"  Me,  I  prefer  serpents,  vipers ! "  shivered 
Jeanne.  "  In  your  place,  Noemie,  I  should  be 
afraid  to  go  to  sleep  with  that  wgrous  shadow 
lurking  about ! " 


SEEING  DOUBLE  105 

"  Nonsense  !  "  cried  Noemie.  "  The  shadow, 
look  you,  Jeanne,  is  behind  me.  That  typifies  —  " 

"  Light  ahead,"  finished  Allard.  "  Besides,  I 
back  my  shadow  against  yours  in  mortal  combat. 
I  prophesy  that  they  will  cut  each  other's  throats." 

"  Bravo  !  "  shouted  Strang.  "And  yours,  Cort- 
land  ?  What  part  will  they  play  in  Miss  Carring- 
ton's  life  ?  For  you  must  have  two,  you  know." 

But  Cortland  had  again  withdrawn  into  his 
stronghold.  His  silence,  as  usual,  was  somehow 
more  impressive  than  the  spoken  words  of  the 
others. 

A  little  later  Captain  Allard  and  Miss  Carring- 
ton  strolled  side  by  side  down  the  banana-shaded 
Long  Walk  to  the  lily-pool.  A  full  moon  rode, 
glorious,  the  sky  overhead,  through  myriads  of 
stars  dimmed  by  her  light.  The  flickering  sha- 
dows of  the  incessantly  quivering  banana  leaves 
darted  from  fold  to  fold  of  Noemie's  white 
gown;  their  over-bending  fringes  dropped  dew 
upon  her  hair.  The  sugarhouse,  with  windows 
red-litten,  like  Poe's  Haunted  Palace,  poured 
out  upon  the  night  air  its  multitudinous  noises, 
above  which,  full-throated,  arose  from  the  gang 


106  THE   PRICE   OF  SILENCE 

about  the  cane-carrier  a  chorus,  strange,  rhap- 
sodic :  — 

Plant  da'  tree,  Aber-ham  ! 
Plant  da'  tree,  Joshu-way  ! 

Zoom-ba-loom-ba  ! 
Nail  da'  cross,  Pilate  ! 
Nail  da'  cross,  Cai'phus  ! 

Zoom-ba-loom-ba  ! 
Tone  da'  bell,  Ma-ry  ! 
Tone  da'  bell,  Mar-thy  ! 

Zoom-ba-loom-ba  ! 
Zoom! 

Like  a  thin,  faint  undertone,  the  wailing  of 
Mink's  fiddle  trailed  up  from  the  Quarters. 

"  Maxime,"  the  girl's  voice  trembled,  breaking 
an  inexplicable  silence,  "  I  have  not  said  anything 
to  you  about  this  morning  because  —  " 

"  Don't,"  Allard  interrupted,  "  don't  say  any- 
thing. I  do  not  wish  to  remember  —  this  morning. 
I  am  trying  to  forget  how  near  you  were  to  —  " 
he  shuddered  involuntarily.  "  Besides,"  he  con- 
tinued before  she  could  speak,  "there  is  so 
much  that  I  wish  to  say.  It  is  my  time  to  talk 
now.  I  am  going  back  to  the  city  to-morrow  —  " 

She  uttered  an  exclamation  ;    he  hurried  on  : 

"  —  and  I  have  so  few  opportunities  of  seeing 
you  —  like  this.  Do  you  know,  Noemie,  that  it 


SEEING  DOUBLE  107 

was  here,  at  Lady's  Rule  —  though  it  had  not 
yet  become  Lady's  Rule  —  at  a  ball,  that  my 
father  asked  my  mother  to  marry  him  ?  Perhaps 
it  was  in  this  very  Long  Walk  that  —  " 

There  was  such  meaning  in  his  voice,  such 
significance  in  his  abrupt  pause,  that  Noemie' s 
face  flamed  scarlet. 

"  Is  that  true  ?  "  she  stammered.  "  How  dear  !  " 
she  added  more  naturally.  "  Come,  captain,  let 
us  go  in.  I  am  neglecting  my  duties  shamefully." 

"  Noemie ! "  He  put  out  a  detaining  hand. 
"  Noemie  !  "  His  voice  had  become  very  grave. 
He  faced  her,  the  lily-pool,  in  its  curb  of  marble 
like  a  silver  mirror  under  the  moon,  at  their  feet. 
"  You  know  already  that  I  love  you.  You  have 
known  it  since  we  were  boy  and  girl  together 
playing  at  grand  cordonnier  in  the  courtyard 
yonder  in  town,  or  sailing  paper  ships  across  this 
very  pool.  I  have  never  told  you  in  so  many 
words  how  much  I  love  you.  Need  I  now? 
Neither  have  I  before  told  you  in  so  many  words 
that  I  want  you  to  be  my  wife  —  " 

"  Don't,  Max,"  she  prayed,  in  a  low  tone  and 
with  averted  face. 

"Do  you  mean  —  ?"  he  began. 


108  THE  PRICE  OF  SILENCE 

"  You  are  forgetting  the  famous  feud,  Cap- 
tain Allard,"  she  cried,  with  forced  gayety. 

"Do  you  mean  —  ?"  he  repeated  sternly. 

"  Oh,  Max !  "  she  pleaded  again ;  "  you  must 
not.  I  — I  —  " 

He  caught  her  hands  in  his  and  compelled  her 
to  look  at  him.  "  Is  there  any  one  else  ?  "  he  de- 
manded. 

"I  —  I  do  —  not  know,"  she  breathed. 

"  You  knew,  or  I  thought  you  did,  less  than  a 
week  ago,  when  I  thought  I  had  found  heaven  iu 
a  dingy  bookshop  in  Royal  Street."  His  tone 
was  tinged  with  bitterness.  He  had  dropped  her 
hands.  "  It  is  Cortland,"  he  said  quietly,  after  a 
pause.  "  I  do  not  believe  he  is  worthy  of  you, 
Noemie.  But  then,  no  man  is  —  I  least  of  all. 
So  you  are  to  be  married  ?  When  ?  " 

She  had  made  a  movement  as  if  to  speak  in 
answer  to  his  first  sentence.  Now  she  threw  up 
her  head  proudly.  "  You  have  no  right  to  ask 
such  a  question,  Captain  Allard.  But  I  tell  you, 
because  it  is  my  pleasure  to  do  so,  that  Mr.  Cort- 
land has  not  asked  me  to  marry  him." 

Allard  drew  a  long  breath.  "  Then  I  give 
you  warning,"  he  said,  "  that  I,  Maxinie  Allard, 


SEEING  DOUBLE  109 

shall  ask  you  again  to  marry  me  —  and  again  — 
and  again,  until  you  tell  me  that  you  are  pro- 
mised to  Cortland,  or  another.  So  long  as  you 
are  free,  Noemie." 

They  stood  a  moment  in  silence,  a  flushed  and 
angry  girl  and  a  cool  and  determined  man.  Then 
the  girl,  within  whose  heart  Allard's  open  decla- 
ration had  set  into  motion  a  whirl  of  hitherto 
unsuspected  emotions,  —  affirmations,  denials, 
questionings,  memories,  dreams,  —  softened  sud- 
denly. She  put  out  her  hand.  "  I  cannot  quarrel 
with  my  oldest  friend  and  comrade,  can  I? 
You  have  been  most  impertinent,  Captain  Al- 
lard.  L'oncle  Grandchamps  would  set  that  down 
to  your  uniform  !  But,  Max  !  I  seem  to  see  our 
little  long-ago  selves  setting  our  wee-bit  ships 
afloat  in  this  old  pond,  and  Myself  tumbling  in 
head-foremost,  and  Yourself  jumping  in  to  pull 
me  out." 

"And  Yourself  getting  scolded  for  spoiling 
your  frock,  and  Myself  well  flogged  for  leading 
your  Ladyship  into  mischief,"  he  chuckled. 

"  I  was  n't  worth  it !  "  she  challenged  gayly, 
the  danger  overpast.  In  truth,  she  longed,  wo- 
man-like, to  recall  the  danger* 


110  THE  PRICE  OF  SILENCE 

"  Maybe  not,"  he  returned  enigmatically.  They 
went  slowly  up  the  Long  Walk  to  the  house. 

"  Remember !  again — and  again — and  again," 
he  said,  as  they  mounted  the  steps ;  "  wait  one 
moment.  Do  you  hear  what  Uncle  Mink  is  pick- 
ing out  of  his  fiddle  ? 

" '  /  kin  lay  low  an'  wait,9  he  say, 
'  Ontwel  de  yearth  is  mine.'  " 

He  stood  looking  after  her  as  she  flitted 
down  the  hall. 

Cortland,  on  the  gallery,  leaning  against  a  white, 
fluted  column,  also  looked  after  her.  Then  his 
eyes  swept  the  rich  expanse  of  field  and  park, 
orchards,  gardens,  sugarhouse,  and  out-build- 
ings, and  came  back  to  the  Great  House  itself. 
The  pale-blue  orbs,  between  their  narrowed  lids, 
had  taken  on  the  glitter  which  meant  greed ;  but 
the  other  something  was  also  present,  accentu- 
ating the  fire-like  sparks  in  the  small  pupils,  and 
deepening  the  sensual  lines  in  the  unguarded 
face. 

Strang  touched  Allard  on  the  shoulder  with  a 
light  forefinger;  they  stood,  themselves  unseen, 
in  the  shadow  of  upreaching  rose-vines.  "  If 
Mademoiselle  Berthet  prefers  vipers,"  whispered 


SEEING  DOUBLE  111 

Donald,  "  here  might  be  one  to  her  liking !  Look 
at  him !  What  in  the  devil's  name  is  Madame  de 
Laussan  thinking  of !  The  smooth  scoundrel 
makes  me  ill !  " 


A  POSTPONEMENT 

S IRENE,  crouched  at  the  foot  of  a  pedestal 
which  supported  a  bronze  statue  of  Zenobia, 
followed  the  agitated  movements  of  her  mistress 
with  great,  yellow  eyes  whose  anguish  belied  the 
impassivity  of  her  face  beneath  the  knotted 
tignon.  The  high-backed  chair  of  Madame  de 
Laussan,  with  the  embroidered  tabouret  before 
it,  was  set  near  an  open  window;  the  inblown 
lace  curtains  made  a  soft,  swishing  sound  on  the 
bare  floor.  There  was  an  illuminated  Book  of 
Hours  upon  the  small  table  against  the  chair-arm  ; 
a  filmy  lace  handkerchief,  faintly  perfumed  with 
vite  et  vert,  marked  the  page  where  the  reader 
had  left  off.  A  tall  crystal  vase  beside  it  held  a 
single  full-blown  magnolia,  whose  golden  heart, 
within  the  waxen  petals,  was  ceaselessly  a-quiver. 
Madame  de  Laussan  paced  the  library  with  halt- 
ing steps  —  for  she  had  grown  visibly  feebler  dur- 
ing these  past  few  months — from  one  cabinet  to 


A  POSTPONEMENT  113 

another,  peering  with  unseeing  eyes  through  the 
glass  doors,  touching  here  and  there,  with  absent 
fingers,  some  well-remembered  trifle.  Her  ears 
were  strained  toward  the  bell,  unaccountably 
silent,  on  the  distant  street  door.  She  pressed 
against  her  bosom,  with  one  pale  hand,  a  slim 
package;  this  she  examined  from  time  to  time> 
even  removing  the  bank-notes  from  their  envel- 
ope to  count  them  over  again  with  feverish  haste. 

"  You  are  sure,  Sirene,  that  to-day  is  the  seven- 
teenth?" 

"But yes,  'Tite  Maitresse,  very  sure." 

"Of  April,  Sirene?" 

"But  certainly,  'Tite  Maitresse.  Courage,  mon 
ange.  The  letter  will  be  in  your  hands  soon, 
soon."  The  smile  that  lighted  her  sombre  face 
brought  an  answering  smile  to  the  eyes  regarding 
her  from  across  the  room. 

"Me,"  continued  Sirene,  a  savage  sharpness 
thrusting  itself  like  a  dagger-point  into  her  mel- 
low voice,  "me,  when  we  have  paid  him  our  clean 
money,  which  will  become  dirty  as  soon  as  he 
touches  it,  I  will  see  to  it  that  the  Grand  Zombi 
pays  him  too !  But,  yes !  The  bones  of  that 
assassin  shall  melt  like  wax,  'Tite  Maitresse.  The 


114  THE  PRICE  OF  SILENCE 

blood  of  his  heart  will  go  thin,  thin,  thin  —  like 
moonlight !  For  the  bat  will  sit  in  his  heart,  the 
sucking  bat !  Wanga  !  Wanga  !  "  She  twisted 
her  long,  lithe  arms  above  her  head ;  red  flames 
burned  in  her  eyes.  "  Aie !  Aie !  I  would  have 
killed  him  long  ago,  the  monster,  if  I  had  known 
where  he  keeps  that  letter." 

Madame  de  Laussan  still  stood  with  one  hand 
grasping  the  back  of  a  chair,  the  other  guarding 
the  envelope ;  her  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  mu- 
lattress,  but  the  wild  words  fell  upon  unheeding 
ears. 

"  It  is  already  past  the  hour,  Sirene.  He  will 
not  —  "  But  stay,  was  not  that  a  familiar  step 
on  the  banquette  below  ?  Did  it  not  pause  at  the 
street  door  ?  Ah !  The  insistent  clang  of  the 
bell  echoed  along  the  porte  cochere,  and  came 
noisily  up  the  stair. 

She  greeted  Cortland,  when  he  entered,  from 
her  accustomed  chair,  returning  his  effusive 
salutation  with  grave  politeness.  At  a  motion  of 
her  hand,  Sirene  glided  from  the  room.  Cortland 
was  himself  too  well  versed  in  dissimulation  not 
to  know  that  the  mulattress,  of  whose  animosity 
he  was  well  aware,  had  stationed  herself  within 


A  POSTPONEMENT  115 

earshot,  behind  some  curtain-fold  or  heavy 
portiere. 

"  Monsieur  is  a  little  later  than  the  appointed 
moment,"  began  Madame  de  Laussan.  "But" — 
she  forced  a  smile  —  "a  man  who  has  so  many 
social  duties  —  " 

"  With  your  permission,  I  will  seat  myself," 
interrupted  Cortland  deliberately,  suiting  the 
action  to  the  word. 

"  Pardon  my  forgetfulness."  The  slight  irony 
in  her  tone  was  not  lost  upon  her  visitor,  who, 
however,  appeared  unconscious  of  its  intention. 
"Doubtless,"  continued  Madame  de  Laussan,  "I 
have  become  rusty  in  manners,  as  you  Americans 
would  say,  since  my  seclusion  of  these  past 
months.  While  monsieur  has  had  so  abundant 
opportunity  of  acquiring  —  I  should  say  of  keep- 
ing in  touch  with  —  the  graces  of  the  beau 
monde.  Monsieur  is  to  be  congratulated  on 
his  success  in  that  world,"  she  added,  with  a 
quick  urbanity  awakened  by  a  warning  sigh 
which  floated  into  the  room  from  some  screened 
recess. 

"  Madame  de  Laussan  —  "  Cortland  put  aside 
brusquely  both  irony  and  compliment. 


116  THE  PEICE  OF  SILENCE 

"  I  understand,"  Madame  de  Laussan  has- 
tened tremulously  to  interpose;  "  monsieur  is  here 
for  business.  Thanks  for  the  suggestion.  Then 
let  us  proceed.  Here,  Monsieur  Cortland,"  — she 
drew  the  crisp  notes  one  by  one  from  the  envel- 
ope and  smoothed  them  out  upon  her  knee.  At 
sight  of  them  the  man's  eyelids  narrowed  until 
the  greenish  eyes  glared  as  through  a  slit;  his 
nostrils  expanded,  his  fingers  twitched ;  he  moist- 
ened his  lips  with  the  point  of  his  tongue.  The 
iasweeping  breeze  blew  across  the  notes  a  fold 
of  Madame  de  Laussan's  silk  scarf,  hiding  them 
from  view.  Cortland  braced  himself  in  his  chair, 
breathing  heavily.  Madame  de  Laussan,  mistak- 
ing his  movement  for  one  of  impatience,  hurried 
on. 

"  Here,  Monsieur  Cortland,  I  have  seven  thou- 
sand five  hundred  dollars,  the  second  and  last 
payment  on  the  debt  which  I  —  owe  you."  She 
also  breathed  heavily  in  the  effort  to  keep  out 
of  her  voice  the  least  suggestion  of  eagerness. 
"  Monsieur  will  have  the  goodness  to  count  the 
money,  and,  by  way  of  receipt  therefor,  to  place 
in  my  hands,  according  to  agreement,  a  certain 
letter,  which  —  " 


A  POSTPONEMENT  117 

"Not  so  fast,  madame,  if  you  please."  He 
arose  and  pushed  back  his  chair ;  his  eyes,  wide 
enough  now,  were  darting  about,  here,  there,  any- 
where, in  a  supreme  effort  to  keep  away  from  the 
notes  held  out  to  him.  "  Put  the  money  back  in 
the  envelope.  We  want  to  talk  this  matter  over — 
first."  His  tone  had  become  so  harshly  imperious 
that  she  obeyed  mechanically,  lifting  a  white 
face  to  his  the  while.  He  strode  back  and  forth 
the  length  of  the  room  several  times. 

"  I  have,  in  fact,  changed  my  mind,"  he  said 
at  last,  stopping  again  before  her.  "  Don't  be  a 
fool,  woman  !  "  He  thrust  his  face  into  hers,  his 
hot  breath  scorching  her  cheek.  The  shriek  died, 
strangled,  in  her  throat.  "  Do  you,  by  chance, 
want  to  bring  Mademoiselle  Noemie  de  Laussan 
Carrington  into  our  little  tete-a-tete  ?  Or  your 
kinsman,  Major  Grandchamps  ?  Both,  I  happen 
to  know,  are  no  further  away  than  the  billiard- 
room.  Listen  to  me,"  he  urged  in  a  calmer  tone, 
though  he  still  stood  in  a  menacing  attitude  over 
her ;  "  I  have  changed  my  mind  because  I  have 
another  proposition  to  make.  I  '11  not  beat  about 
the  bush,  either,  as  your  fine  aristocrats  would  do. 
I  love  Noemie.  Don't  trouble  yourself  to  speak, 


118  THE  PRICE   OF  SILENCE 

madame.  I  know  well  enough  what  you  would 
say  if  you  —  dared.  I  love  the  girl.  I  have  never 
in  my  life  loved  any  woman,  though  I  've  had 
enough,  and  more  than  enough,  to  do  with  wo- 
men." He  laughed  fatuously.  A  shiver  passed 
through  the  bowed  form  before  him.  "  Oh,  yes, 
I  know  that  in  your  eyes  it  is  nothing  less  than 
sacrilege  for  a  man  like  me  —  the  son  of  the 
Yankee  officer  who  looted  your  house ;  a  man 
who  comes  out  of  that  poor  white  trash  whom 
you  and  your  class  despise — yes,  madame,  and 
by  God  !  the  time  will  come,  when  —  " 

He  stopped,  frowning  and  biting  his  lip ;  the 
reference  to  his  origin  had  escaped  him  unaware. 
"  I  know,"  he  went  on  with  increasing  boldness, 
"  that  you  consider  it  a  crime  for  me  even  to 
dream  of  Noemie" — a  sudden  tenderness  soft- 
ened the  syllables  of  the  name.  "  I  know  that  if 
you  dared  you  would  call  in  your  servants  and 
have  me  beaten  —  as  you  and  your  sort  used  to 
beat  your  niggers  —  and  kicked  out  into  the 
street.  But  I  have  the  whip-hand  of  you  as  long 
as  I  have  a  certain  letter  in  my  possession.  For 
that  reason,  madame,  I  decline  to  receive  the 
money  —  at  present — which  you  hold  in  your 


A  POSTPONEMENT  119 

hand,  and  I  call  off  the  bargain  for  another  six 
months.  If,  at  the  end  of  that  time,  I  have  not 
succeeded  in  winning  Noemie  for  my  wife  —  " 

"  Your  wife  !  Noemie,  your  wife !  never ! " 
gasped  Madame  de  Laussan,  scorn  and  terror 
struggling  for  mastery  in  the  cry. 

"  And  why  not !  "  demanded  Cortland  sharply. 
As  once  before  in  the  same  room,  and  in  the  same 
presence,  his  soul  had  burst  its  sheath,  and  stood 
revealed  in  all  its  native  brutality,  the  very  voice 
had  changed,  and  was  become  coarse  and  vulgar. 
"  And  why  not !  Is  not  a  poor  white,  the  son  of 
a  Yankee  thief,  good  enough  for  a —  " 

She  recoiled  from  the  unuttered  word  as  if 
from  a  blow.  "  Sirene!  a  moi!  "  she  called  chok- 
ingly. But  Sirene,  crossing  the  room  with  a 
bound,  was  already  encircling  the  half-fainting 
form  with  her  arms.  "Assassin  !  "  she  hissed,  her 
fiery  eyes  full  upon  him. 

"  You  keep  out,  or  —  "  he  hissed  in  return ; 
then,  mastering  himself,  "  come  now,  madame," 
he  said  in  a  conciliatory  tone,  "  you  know  I  never 
meant  that.  I  love  the  girl  honestly.  Honestly,"  — 
he  repeated  the  word  as  if  the  sound  of  it  on  his 
own  tongue  gave  him  an  unwonted  sensation,  — 


120  THE  PRICE  OF  SILENCE 

"  and  I  believe  that  Noemie  loves  me.  Or  if  she 
don't  now,  she  will,  by  God  !  "  His  lower  jaw  pro- 
truded with  a  bulldog  snap.  "  Now  what  I  want 
of  you  is  just  this.  You  give  me  your  word, 
as  a  Creole  gentlewoman  "  — to  save  him,  he  could 
not  forego  this  sneer  —  "  that  you  will  keep  out  of 
the  game,  you  and  your  nigger,  there."  Sirene 
spat  at  him  openly.  "  For  six  months  I  will  agree 
not  to  show  the  letter  or  speak  of  it  to  any  one. 
Oh,  I  keep  the  letter,  of  course,"  he  interpolated, 
in  answer  to  an  unspoken  ejaculation  in  both 
pairs  of  eyes,  fixed,  horrified,  upon  him.  "  I  keep 
the  letter  because  I  don't  trust  women,  white, 
yellow,  or  black.  If,  at  the  end  of  six  months,  or 
let  us  say  seven,  which  will  make  one  year  from 
the  date  of  the  first  payment,  —  one  year  and  a 
day,  as  Mademoiselle  Carrington  would  say,  — 
since  I  had  the  honor  of  offering  to  restore  to  the 
famille  de  Laussan  the  priceless  document  carried 
away,  by  mistake,  by  my  father  during  the  late 
unpleasantness,"  —  he  bowed  with  exaggerated 
politeness,  —  "  if  by  that  time  Noemie  Carrington 
is  not  my  wife,  or  my  —  touch  me,  you  yellow 
devil,  and  I  '11  strangle  you  !  —  I  will  return  you 
the  said  document  and  receive  the  money  accord- 


A  POSTPONEMENT  121 

ing  to  our  original  agreement.  It  is  a  good  bar- 
gain for  you,  let  me  tell  you  !  You  will  have  the 
use  of  your  seven  thousand  five  hundred  in  the 
meantime  ;  and  you  will  have  an  opportunity  of 
becoming  better  acquainted  with  Noemie's  — 
husband. 

"  Oh,  call  Major  Grandchamps,  madame,  and 
give  him  the  satisfaction  of  running  me  through, 
as  he  would  say.  Or  send  for  the  whipper- 
snapper  of  a  Yankee  captain,  who  is  forbidden 
the  house,  but  who  meets  your  granddaughter  in 
all  sorts  of  out-of-the-way  places  —  " 

"Stop,  monsieur,"  said  Madame  de  Laussan, 
with  suddenly  recovered  composure ;  "  I  am  ready, 
having  no  alternative,  to  submit  to  your  propo- 
sition, namely :  to  allow  you  until  the  day  speci- 
fied to  — "  an  uncontrollable  trembling  shook 
her  frame. 

"To  make  Noemie  Mrs.  Sidney  Cortland," 
suggested  Cortland. 

"  And  to  refrain  from  showing  my —  " 

"  Say  it,  madame.  Don't  mince  matters  with 
one  of  the  family !  Bless  your  heart,  I  don't 
care.  Your  horror,  you  would  say,  of  such  a 
match." 


122  THE  PRICE  OF  SILENCE 

"My  horror  of  such  an  alliance.  Thanks, 
monsieur,  for  the  apt  word.  But  not  even  to 
buy  your  silence  will  I  submit  to  the  shame  of 
listening  to  slander,  either  of  Mademoiselle  Car- 
rington  or  of  the  son  of  my  old  and  honored 
friend,  Colonel  Allard." 

Cortland  shrank  in  spite  of  himself,  overawed 
by  the  dignity  of  the  speaker.  He  hastened  to 
adopt  a  more  politic  manner,  drawing  back 
like  a  spider  when,  prepared  for  a  spring,  it 
thinks  better  of  it. 

"  Demand  to  see  the  letter,  '  Tite  Maitresse," 
breathed  Sirene  in  the  ear  of  her  mistress,  bend- 
ing over  her  as  if  to  loosen  the  lace  about  the 
quivering  throat.  Low  as  the  words  were,  in  the 
negre  patois,  Cortland  heard  without  fully  under- 
standing them  ;  lie  scented  danger,  and  when,  a 
few  moments  later,  Madame  de  Laussan  preferred 
the  request,  giving  as  her  reason  the  desire  to 
fix  in  her  memory  the  date  of  the  letter,  he  smiled 
astutely.  "  I  would  be  delighted  to  oblige  you, 
madame,"  he  said;  "but  I  have  not  the  letter 
with  me.  In  fact,  I  should  not  dream  of  carrying 
documents  of  such  value  upon  my  person.  The 
letter,  in  a  sealed  envelope,  be  it  understood,  is 


A  POSTPONEMENT  123 

in  the  hands  of  my  lawyer.  In  case  of  my  death, 
or  of  any  other  mischance,  it  is  to  be  handed, 
with  instructions  to  open,  to  certain  persons  less 
scrupulous,  I  fear,  than  your  humble  servant." 
He  bent  a  malicious  glance  upon  Sirene,  who 
stared  stolidly  at  the  wall  behind  him. 

"  What  guarantee  have  I,  monsieur,"  asked 
Madame  de  Laussan,  after  a  dejected  silence, 
"  that  at  the  end  of  the  eight  months  the  letter 
will  be  restored  to  me  ?  " 

"  The  word  of  a  —  "  Cortland  had  begun  with 
his  impressive,  acquired  manner.  He  stopped  and 
laughed  outright.  —  "Of  a  poor  white,"  he  con- 
cluded, in  a  tone  become  all  at  once  sombre, "  which 
of  course  you  would  not  accept.  However,  it 
is,  then,  understood  that  I  am  to  pay  court  to 
Mademoiselle  de  Laussan  Carrington  with  your 
full  approval  and  consent  —  a  welcome  guest  in 
this  house  at  all  times,  eh  ?  " 

He  turned  on  his  heel  as  he  spoke,  and  swag- 
gered out  of  the  room.  Sirene,  holding  aside  the 
portiere,  kept  her  eyes  on  the  floor  as  he  ap- 
proached ;  he  did  not  pause,  but  at  the  instant 
of  passing  he  tapped  her  shoulder  with  a  blunt 
finger.  "  One  word  to  Noemie  against  me,  and  I 


124  THE  PKICE  OF  SILENCE 

kill — kill!  not  you,  you  d — d  she-cat,  but  your 
mistress  yonder — the  old  woman.  You  hear?" 

Siren e  spat  at  him  again,  smiliug. 

"  Something — what  the  devil  is  it  ?  "  muttered 
Cortland,  descending  the  steps,  "something about 
that  fool  of  a  Madame  de  Laussan  and  her  yel- 
low nigger  brings  to  the  top  everything  I  have 
kept  under  all  these  years.  By  God !  what  a  fool 
I  am  to  let  myself  go  off  like  that.  However, 
I'm  safe  enough.  If  I  wanted  to,  I  could  strip 
from  her  every  shred  of  property  the  old  woman 
possesses,  diamonds  and  Noemie  thrown  in,  for 
that  letter.  I  may  do  it  yet ! "  His  brow  cleared. 
He  stepped  briskly  along  the  banquette,  reclad 
in  picked-up  gentility. 


XI 

IN   THE  COURTYARD 

"T  DO  not  understand,"  observed  Miss  Carring- 
-*~  ton  thoughtfully,  "how  one  can  ever  be 
quite  sure." 

"  My  dear  girl,"  cried  Strang,  "  one  never  is 
quite  sure  —  so  long  as  one  can  ask  the  question." 

"  I  suppose  there  does  come  a  moment  ?  "  pur- 
sued Noemie  tentatively. 

Donald  considered  this  proposition  for  a  short 
while  in  silence  ;  then,  with  conviction  :  "  Yes, 
there  does  come  a  moment.  When  the  Mississippi 
River,  for  example,  ceases  to  coquet  first  with  the 
east  bank,  then  with  the  left,  and,  surging  and 
leaping,  bursts  in  a  mighty  flood  over  the  levees 
on  both  sides,  sweeping  away  all  bounds  and — 
spreading  destruction  as  it  goes,  far  and  wide." 

"  It  is  like  that  ?  "  laughed  the  girl. 

"  It  is  like  that,  yes,"  Donald  laughed  back. 
But  he  regarded  a  little  wistfully  the  flushed  face, 
turned  suddenly,  so  that  it  showed  in  clear-cut 


126  THE   PRICE   OF  SILENCE 

profile  against  the  white-starred  greenery.  They 
were  pacing  back  and  forth  under  a  trellised 
rose-vine  which  overarched  a  foot-walk  of  the 
courtyard.  The  cream-white  rose  petals  fell  in  a 
perfumed  shower  upon  the  cool  flags ;  a  handful 
caught  in  her  crinkly  hair,  rested  like  a  coronet 
on  her  bared  head.  Strang  bent  toward  her 
from  his  superior  height ;  his  lips  trembled  with 
the  words  which  had  rushed  to  them  so  often 
before — to  be  forced  back  by  the  remembrance 
of  his  poverty,  her  extreme  youth,  his  own  un- 
fitness,  her  wealth.  t(  It  cannot  be  Allard  whom 
she  —  she  loves,"  he  thought ;  "  for  then  she 
would  know !  It  must  not  be  Cortland ;  what 
if  —  " 

"  Oh,  I  forgot,  Don,"  —  her  tone  had  recovered 
its  girlish  lightness,  —  "I  wanted  to  consult  you 
about  the  lace  for  that  rose-colored  gown  of  mine. 
Shall  I  use  my  grandmother's  flounces,  or  —  " 

He  drew  back  as  if  stung  by  the  lash  of  a 
whip.  "  Yes,"  he  returned  monotonously.  He 
listened,  throwing  in  a  word  here  and  there,  get- 
ting hold  of  himself  bit  by  bit,  —  "  forcing  the 
Mississippi  back  into  its  bed  "  he  said  to  himself 
whimsically. 


IN   THE  COURTYARD  127 

"You  are  always  such  a  help  to  me,  Don," 
she  concluded,  the  matter  settled. 

She  stood  on  tiptoe  to  slip  a  half-opened  rose- 
bud into  his  buttonhole;  it  snapped  under  her 
fingers.  "A  broken  dream,"  he  said,  with  a  mock- 
tragic  air.  It  would  have  taken  the  quick  ear  of 
love  itself  to  detect  the  undercurrent  in  his  voice 
as  he  chanted :  — 

La  vie  est  vaine : 
Unpeu  d'espoir, 
Unpeu  de  haine, 
Etpuis,  bonsmr. 

"Your  accent  and  your  sentiment  are  alike 
detestable,"  declared  Noemie. 

"  I  retire  with  my  broken  dream,"  he  returned, 
stooping  to  pick  up  the  bud  snapped  from  its  stem, 
and  thrusting  it  into  his  breast  pocket. 

Left  alone,  Noemie  continued  to  walk  back 
and  forth  in  the  trellised  way  where  Strang,  with 
a  pretext  of  a  sketch  under  his  arm,  had  found 
her.  Her  thoughts  returned  to  the  circle  in  which 
they  had  been  wandering  —  helplessly,  like  people 
lost  in  a  forest  —  for  the  past  weeks,  and  particu- 
larly for  the  past  hours.  "  It  is  beyond  compre- 
hension!" she  argued  within  herself:  "when  ma 
urges  me  to  show  more  consideration  to 


128  THE  PRICE   OF  SILENCE 

Mr.  Cortland,  then  I  hate  Mr.  Cortland  almost  as 
much  as  Sirene  does — I  wonder,  by  the  way,  why 
Sirene  hates  him  so  !  —  and  when  Felix  Monplaisir 
hints  darkly  that  Cortland  is  a  boor  and  an  im- 
postor, I  find  myself  angry  with  Felix  and  almost 
ready  to  —  elope  with  Cortland,  if  he  should  ask 
me  !  When  1'oncle  Grandchamps  falls  into  a  fury 
over  what  he  is  pleased  to  call  Maxime's  perfidy, 
— as  if  it  were  a  perfidy  to  serve  one's  country, — 
I  can  imagine  Vanneau  dalliance  on  my  finger. 
But  when  Marraine  contrives  that  Maxime  shall 
find  me  next  to  him  at  Mass,  I  detest  —  yes,  I 
detest  Maxime.  Truly  it  is  a  mystery !  When 
Maxime  flaunts  in  the  face  of  the  world  his  jeal- 
ousy of  Cortland,  I  am  irresistibly  repelled  from 
him  in  the  direction  of  —  Sidney."  She  blushed 
as  the  name  for  the  first  time  found  itself  upon 
her  murmuring  lips.  "On  the  other  hand,  when 
Cortland  presumes  to  criticise  Maxime,  I  am 
furious.  Oh!" 

The  sudden  thought  that  leaped  to  her  brain 
arrested  her  feet.  She  stood  stock  still,  trying  to 
remember.  A  word  or  two  dropped  by  Cortland 
an  hour  earlier  seemed  suddenly  to  take  on  mean- 
ing unnoticed  at  the  time.  "  You  will  join  a  party 


IN  THE   COURTYARD  129 

I  am  making  up  to  see  the  Fire  Dance  at 

Park  to-night,  will  you  not  ?  "  he  had  asked. 

"  My  grandmother  —  " 

"  Madame  de  Laussan  has  already  given  her 
consent ;  I  have  seen  her,"  he  interrupted,  with 
his  accustomed  brusque  imperiousness.  "Ma- 
dame Berthet  will  go,  of  course,  and  Mademoiselle 
Jeanne.  Also  —  " 

"I  —  I  do  not  know,"  she  interrupted  in  her 
turn  ;  "  I  have  half  an  engagement  already." 

"With  the  Herons?  Yes,  I  know;  but  they 
have  consented  to  come  with  us.  Captain  Allard 
will  be  there,"  he  added,  after  a  pause. 

She  had  hesitated ;  an  unusual  eagerness  in  his 
voice  putting  her  on  guard.  She  had  no  mind  to 
make,  as  yet,  the  inevitable  decision  between  her 
two  lovers. 

"  Captain  Allard," — was  the  repetition  charged 
with  significance? — "  will  be  there  —  on  business 
of  his  own.  He  will  doubtless  be  more  surprised 
than  pleased  to  meet  Miss  Carrington  by  the 
light  of  Pepita's  flaming  aureole." 

She  had  considered  this  a  rather  petty  fling 
at  Allard's  undisguised  dislike  of  Cortland  and 
probable  irritation  at  seeing  her  in  company  with 


130  THE  PRICE   OF  SILENCE 

his  rival.  But  the  words,  recurring  to  her,  carried 
a  subtle  innuendo.  She  shook  her  head  impa- 
tiently. "It  will  not  do,  Mr.  Cortland.  Captain 
Allard  is  at  present  the  pole  positive.  I  am  mov- 
ing away  from  you,  sir,  at  the  rate  of  —  " 


xn 

THE  FIRE  DANCE 

rTlHE  stage  of  the  open-air  theatre  represented 
-*-  a  huge  shell ;  it  stood  out,  when  lighted,  in 
rose-colored  relief  between  the  flanking  wings, 
which  seemed  to  recede  into  shadow.  Now,  the 
whole  mass,  outlined  against  a  starless  horizon, 
was  dark  and  mysteriously  silent.  The  spectators 
were  almost  as  hushed  under  a  heavily  clouded 
sky;  the  wind  blowing  in  fitfully  from  Lake 
Pontchartrain  was  charged  with  the  musky  per- 
fume of  swamp-flowers.  Noemie,  her  hands 
clasped  about  her  knees,  stared  into  the  darkness ; 
her  heart  was  beating  strangely.  Cortland,  beside 
her,  kept  his  eyes  fixed  upon  her  face,  gleaming 
softly-white  in  the  obscurity;  he  seemed  unex- 
pectant,  though  a  nervous  twitching  of  his  under 
lip  hinted  at  inner  excitement. 

"  Aie !  "  sighed  Jeanne  Berthet,  "  I  find  this 
ghos'ly.  We  do  not  even  talk.  My  tong  is  voo- 
dooed. For  what,  then,  do  we  wait?  Ah"  — 


132  THE  PRICE  OF  SILENCE 

for  a  whispering  sound  had  announced  the  lift- 
ing of  the  curtain.  Unseen  musicians  began  to 
play  softly  a  sort  of  disembodied  prelude  that 
barely  trembled  into  the  air  from  stringed  instru- 
ments alone.  Something  vague,  undefined  —  a 
vaporous  breath  —  passed  across  the  deeper  dark- 
ness of  the  shell;  then,  as  if  blown  back,  it 
wavered  again  into  view,  taking  on  a  dim  shape, 
and  instantly  vanished.  The  onlookers  strained 
their  eyes  until  the  figure,  if  figure  it  was,  reap- 
peared, dawning  slowly  into  the  outlines  of  a 
woman,  tall  and  slight,  whose  diaphanous  dra- 
peries were  tinged  as  with  the  pale  opalescence 
of  moonlight  upon  snow. 

The  shell  was  suddenly  flooded  with  light. 

The  dancing  of  Pepita,  the  Cuban,  as  judged 
by  any  known  standard,  was  not  dancing  at  all. 
There  was  a  series  of  slow,  rhythmic  movements, 
in  which  the  white  garments  of  the  dancer,  out- 
blown  by  some  unearthly  wind,  caught  from 
some  invisible  sky  flashes  of  exquisite  color, 
subtle,  elusive,  evanescent.  Her  delicate  body 
gleamed  like  mother-of-pearl  through  myriad 
folds  of  thinnest  Oriental  silk;  her  outspread  arms 
opened  fluttering  wings  of  rose,  amber,  and  violet. 


THE  FIKE   DANCE  133 

The  dreamy  music  quickened  stealthily.  Pe- 
pita  swayed  from  side  to  side  as  if  vaguely  trou- 
bled, then,  folding  her  pinions,  stooped  to  the 
floor,  the  lights  sinking  with  her,  and  rose  envel- 
oped in  a  blaze  of  sulphurous  flame.  The  specta- 
tors burst  into  exclamations  of  awed  delight  as 
the  slender  figure  whirled,  a  column  of  fire, 
across  the  velvety  darkness.  Tongues  of  dazzling 
flame,  tipped  with  scarlet,  played  around  her 
head,  throwing  into  relief  her  thin,  beautiful, 
foreign  face  ;  her  dark  eyes  gleamed  like  fixed 
stars  through  the  shag  of  black  hair  which  fell 
over  her  forehead. 

Wildly,  and  more  wildly  still,  as  if  in  frantic 
effort  to  escape  the  consuming  terror,  the  dancer 
writhed  back  and  forth,  beating  her  breast  with 
impotent  hands.  Suddenly  an  angry  sheet  of  fire 
from  beneath  her  feet,  mounting,  scorched  her 
into  annihilation.  She  threw  up  her  meagre  arms, 
and  sank,  a  bluish,  palpitating  mass,  into  nothing- 
ness. 

There  was  a  cry  of  horror  from  the  audience  ; 
a  man  rushed  shrieking  toward  the  stage ;  a 
woman  fainted.  Even  the  initiated  stood  up, 
uncertain  and  tremulous.  Noemie  clutched  Cort- 


134          THE  PRICE  OF  SILENCE 

land's  arm,  suffering  him  unnoted  to  hold  her  for 
a  moment  to  his  breast. 

But  the  devouring  flame  had  released  a  Soul ! 
It  was  flying  on  wide,  snow-white  wings  across 
the  hushed  void ;  the  backward-floating  robes 
were  lightly  touched  with  a  cool,  green  radiance. 
The  hands,  meekly  folded  upon  the  breast,  and 
the  small,  bare  feet  were  translucent,  like  the 
inner  leaf  of  a  resurrection  lily. 

The  heavenly  vision  hovered  for  one  moment 
before  the  incredulous,  wondering  throng,  then 
faded,  dissolving  like  a  wraith  of  mist,  under 
their  gaze. 

The  lights  flared  up ;  there  was  a  second  of 
dazed  silence,  followed  by  tumultuous  clamor,  — 
clapping  of  hands,  stamping  of  feet,  shouts,  calls 
for  Pepita  !  Pepita  ! 

The  Cuban,  still  in  her  gauze  robes,  which 
trailed  away  from  her,  showing  her  bare  feet, 
came  out  with  halting,  uncertain  step,  and  stood 
in  the  heart  of  the  glowing  shell.  Her  small  face 
was  very  white,  very  drawn,  and  pitifully  young ! 
She  seemed  scarcely  more  than  a  child  —  a  fright- 
ened child  at  that !  For  her  parted  lips  trembled, 
her  eyes  rolled  wildly.  People  were  asking  each 


THE  FIRE   DANCE  135 

other  wonderingly  how  this  spectre  could  have 
contrived,  but  now,  to  appear  beautiful !  Sud- 
denly the  sombre  eyes  fixed  themselves  upon  some 
one  just  beyond  the  orchestra ;  a  smile  lighted  the 
young  face.  "  Maxime  !  Maxime  !  "  The  shrill 
cry  silenced  the  incipient  applause.  She  stretched 
out  emaciated  arms.  "  Maxime  !  "  A  thin  stream 
of  scarlet  spurted  from  her  lips ;  she  sank  once 
more,  but  this  time  gasping,  to  the  floor. 

The  curtain  was  hastily  dropped,  but  not  be- 
fore Noemie  Carrington  had  seen  Maxime  Allard 
leap  upon  the  stage  and  stoop  to  the  huddled 
heap  of  silk  and  lace,  which,  a  short  half  hour 
before,  had  been  a  circling,  throbbing,  ecstatic 
rainbow,  an  intense  shining,  a  rhythmic  dream. 

"  Good  !  "  exulted  Cortland  within  himself, 
hurrying  Noemie  out  by  a  side  gate,  ostensibly 
to  avoid  the  excited,  jostling  crowd.  "  I  would 
not  have  thought  the  Dago  hussy  so  clever  an 
actress.  Pardon,  Miss  Carrington,"  he  added 
aloud,  seizing  her  arm  almost  roughly  and  draw- 
ing her  aside ;  "  I  believe  we  are  in  Captain  Al- 
lard's  way." 

For  Allard,  carrying  the  slight  form  of  the 
dancer  in  his  arms,  was  striding  toward  a  carriage 


136  THE  PRICE  OF  SILENCE 

drawn  up  against  the  curb  without  the  gate. 
Pepita's  eyes  were  still  closed ;  her  waxen  face 
lay  like  a  wilting  flower  against  Allard's  breast. 
Unconscious,  apparently,  or  reckless,  of  the  many 
pairs  of  eyes  regarding  him  in  undisguised  aston- 
ishment, —  even  of  Noemie' s  look  of  scorn,  —  he 
stepped  into  the  carriage,  gave  a  curt  order  to 
the  coachman,  and  was  driven  rapidly  away. 

"  You  —  knew  ?  "  Noemie  said  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Yes,"  said  Cortland  readily;  the  man  was  too 
cunning  to  pretend  reluctance.  "I  knew.  Shall 
I  tell  you  how  I  knew?  The  girl,  who,  by  the 
way,  is  shamming  illness  for  effect,  is  —  " 

"  Tell  me  nothing,"  she  interrupted.  "  It  is 
enough  for  me  to  have  seen,  with  my  own  eyes, 
Captain  Allard's  public  devotion  to  a  common 
dancer.  He — he  was  nothing  to  me,  nothing 
whatever,  you  understand.  But  I  respected  him. 
I  —  I  thank  you  more  than  I  can  say,  Mr.  —  " 

"  Sidney,"  he  breathed,  bending  toward  her. 
"  Say  it  —  Noemie !  Will  you  not  ?  " 

"Sidney,"  she  repeated  mechanically.  Her 
thoughts,  it  must  be  confessed,  were  otherwhere. 

He  could  hardly  restrain  a  savage,  exultant 
shout ;  he  took  the  hand  she  held  out  to  him, 


THE   FIRE   DANCE  137 

and  drew  it  with  masterful  grasp  within  his  arm, 
folding  his  own  over  it. 

o 

At  the  same  moment  Captain  Allard  bent 
above  a  bed  in  the  Sanitarium,  and,  holding  in 
his  hand  the  ice-cold  hand  of  a  dying  girl,  was 
listening  to  the  disconnected  words  which  fell 
from  her  pale  lips.  A  white-capped  nurse  hovered 
near,  but  the  doctors,  motioning  to  the  officer 
that  the  final  moment  was  approaching,  had 
retired  to  the  other  end  of  the  room.  The  dancer 
had  been  babbling  delightedly,  like  a  child,  but 
now  a  glaze  dulled  the  lustrous  eyes,  which  still 
sought  his  face. 

O 

"Do  you  remember,  Maxime,"  she  had  que- 
ried, in  the  soft  Spanish  which  he  had  learned, 
a  soldier,  in  Cuba.  "  Do  you  remember  the  day 
you  came  to  our  cabin  seeking  water,  and  found 
my  mother  half-dying  beside  my  dead  father?  and 
myself ,  pobrecita  that  I  was,  at  their  feet,  burned 
up  with  fever,  and  starving?  How  good  you  were 
to  us,  Maxime,  mi  hermano.  Madre  de  Di6s! 
how  good  you  were  !  After  you  went  away  —  " 

After  he  went  away,  the  mother  had  died,  the 
thirteen-year-old  girl  had  been  picked  up  by  a 
wandering  impresario  ;  and  during  the  past  two 


138  THE  PRICE   OF  SILENCE 

years  she  had  been  Pepita,  the  Cuban  Fire  Dancer. 
"I  made  up  that  scena  myself,"  she  explained, 
•with  childish  pride,  to  her  listener. 

She  had  desired  to  see  the  amigo  Americano, 
the  hermano  Maxime.  Truly  she  had  desired  to 
see  him  when  she  had  found  herself  in  his  city. 
But  one  night  —  in  the  very  beginning  —  he 
had  come  into  her  life.  Allard  followed  with 
horror  and  indignation  the  story  of  treachery, 
betrayal,  shame.  When  it  was  finished,  the  girl 
lay  for  a  time  exhausted  among  the  pillows. 
"  I  do  not  know  what  it  all  means,  amigo,"  she 
broke  the  silence  once  more,  "but  I — I  wished 
so  to  please  him !  He  told  me  to  write  the  note 
to  you  and  ask  you,  for  my  dead  mother's  sake,  to 
come  to-night  and  see  me  dance.  He  made  me 
promise  to  call  you  from  the  stage,  loud,  loud. 
I  wanted  to  please  him.  Where  is  he  ?  Oh  —  it 
is  —  you,  Maxime,  mi  hermano.  Why  —  when 
did  you  —  come?" 

"What  is  his  name?"  demanded  Allard 
sharply.  "Who  —  " 

"  Angel  de  los  Cielos  —  Maxime,  it  is  very  — 
dark!" 

"Who  is  the  man?" 


THE  FIRE   DANCE  139 

"  It  is  —  dark.  Madre  de  Di6s,  how  it  —  is  — 
dark !  Madre  d  —  " 

Her  voice  ceased  suddenly.  Her  secret  had 
died  with  her. 


XIII 

MIDI 

THE  crumbling  oven-tomb  of  those  dead- 
and-gone  Allards,  wbose  plantation  once  em- 
braced the  fine  sweep  of  land  lakeward  from  an 
elbow  of  Bayou  St.  Jean,  and  the  magnificent 
live-oaks,  moss-festooned,  which  cast  gigantic  cir- 
cles of  shade  on  the  greensward  below,  —  these 
alone  remain  to  witness  the  chateau  of  the 
ancien  regime,  and  the  famous  dueling-ground 
of  a  later  day.  The  open,  if  ever  furrowed  by 
plow  or  turned  by  spade,  shows  no  trace  of  either; 
and  not  even  a  ruined  chimney  marks  the  site 
of  the  vanished  plantation-house.  The  tangled 
underbrush,  —  the  fanlike  latanier,  semi-tropical 
vines,  and  flaming  swamp-flowers,  —  which  made 
fantastic  setting  to  those  scenes  enacted  here 
in  gray  dawnlight  following  nights  of  revelry, 
when  rapier  or  dueling-pistol  spoke  the  final 
word  of  the  quarrel,  has  been  cleared  away. 
A  trim  park  with  well-shaven  lawns,  decorous 


MIDI  141 

rose  trees,  and  ordered  drives  and  footways,  is 
rapidly  outliving  the  memory  of  its  doubtful, 
romantic  past.  An  artificial  rivulet  wanders  pla- 
cidly through  soil  once  streaked  with  the  bluest 
blood  of  the  old  town  by  the  river.  Hardly  a 
fleur-de-lys  remains  to  make  a  splotch  of  wild  and 
heavenly  blue,  or  of  gold-dusted  pink,  in  the  gen- 
tle depression  where  aforetime  rippled  a  river  of 
color,  with  clouds  of  butterflies  a-hover  above. 
But  the  tradition  of  thefleur-de-tys  stays  on,  and 
in  the  spring  many  who  go  no  farther  afield  in 
quest  of  these  lilies  of  France  make  a  pretense 
of  seeking  them  —  in  company —  under  the  oaks. 
Hither,  then,  several  mornings  after  the  last 
dance  of  Pepita,  the  Cuban,  came  Madame  Ber- 
thet  and  a  dozen  or  more  young  men  and  women 
for  the  Spring  Lily-Meet,  as  some  one  has  play- 
fully named  it.  Cortland  was  among  the  number, 
conspicuously  attendant  upon  Miss  Carrington, 
his  ordinary  taciturnity  pervaded  by  a  half-veiled 
air  of  triumph.  Noemie  was  pale  and  distraught ; 
the  gay  raillery  of  her  companions  hardly  brought 
a  faint  responsive  smile  to  her  lips.  Seated  on  a 
garden  bench,  her  hands  closed  listlessly  over  the 
single  fleur-de-lys  which  had  rewarded  the  quest, 


142  THE  PRICE   OF  SILENCE 

she  gazed  down  the  leaf-shaded  vistas,  where 
scattered,  Watteau-like  groups  strayed.  Suddenly 
Strang,  covertly  watching  her,  saw  a  quick  flush 
dye  her  white  throat  and  mount  to  her  cheeks ; 
her  form  stiffened,  a  defiant  fire  leaped  into  her 
eyes.  He  followed  her  glance.  A  couple  of  ser- 
vants were  approaching  carrying  covered  ham- 
pers ;  behind  them  Allard,  who  had  just  turned 
in  at  the  park  gate,  walked  briskly,  hat  in  hand, 
the  light  breeze  lifting  the  dark  curls  from  his 
forehead. 

"  Is  this  exuberant  welcome  for  me  or  for  the 
well-seasoned  meats  borne  before  me  ?  "  he  de- 
manded, laughing,  as  the  group,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  Noemie  and  Cortland,  closed  noisily 
around  him. 

"You!  You  deserve  no  welcome!"  cried 
Jeanne  Berthet ;  "  neither  do  you  deserve  a  nib- 
ble, even,  of  the  well-seasoned  meats  !  You,  who 
come —  " 

"  At  the  eleventh  hour,  while  we  have  borne 
the  heat  and  burden  of  the  lily-hunting,"  inter- 
polated Masters. 

"  You,  who  plainly  come  only  for  the  break- 
fast !  "  finished  Jeanne. 


MIDI  143 

"I,  mademoiselle?  But  I  come,  me,  to  view 
the  tomb  of  my  ancestors  "  —  he  made  a  flourish 
with  his  hat,  and  smiled  brightly  over  at  Noemic, 
whose  eyes  were  full  upon  his.  She  answered  the 
smile  with  a  cool  stare  which  swept  him  from 
head  to  foot;  then,  turning  abruptly,  she  laid  her 
hand  upon  Cortland's  arm.  They  walked  away 
together,  shoulder  almost  touching  shoulder,  and 
passed  across  a  foot-bridge  to  a  little  island  lying 
like  an  emerald  on  the  bosom  of  the  still  stream. 
Here,  underneath  a  feathery  cypress,  they  stood 
face  to  face,  apparently  oblivious  of  everything 
and  everybody  save  themselves.  A  second  of 
gasping  silence  among  the  onlookers  followed 
this  astonishing  manoeuvre  ;  the  blood  rushed  to 
Allard's  face  and  receded,  leaving  it  white  and 
set.  But  there  seemed  hardly  a  break  in  his 
speech.  "  As  I  was  saying,"  he  continued,  in  the 
same  mock-heroic  tone,  "  I  make,  to-day,  my  an- 
nual pilgrimage  to  the  tomb  of  my  fathers, — 
the  long-gone  Allards  of  the  habitation  Allard. 
Adieu,  mesdames  et  messieurs,  I  go  to  commune 
with  their  dust."  He  turned  away. 

"You  will  come  back  to  breakfast,  Maxime?" 
urged  Madame  Berthet,  visibly  disturbed. 


144  THE  PRICE   OF  SILENCE 

"A  thousand  pardons,  madame,"  he  smiled 
over  his  shoulder;  "  after  a  funeral  one  desires  — 
meditation." 

"  Hard  hit,  poor  boy ! "  remarked  Masters,  look- 
ing after  the  departing  soldier;  "I  do  not  wonder, 
myself !  But  why  the  devil  should  any  girl,  above 
all  Noemie  Carrington,  prefer  a  cad,  —  a  hound, 
I  should  say,"  —  he  interjected,  under  his  breath, 
"  like  Cortland,  to  a  gentleman  like  Allard!  " 

A  chorus  of  feminine  voices,  for  and  against, 
blocked  further  criticism  on  his  part.  Under 
cover  of  this  the  pallor  of  Strang,  almost  as  great 
as  that  of  Allard,  escaped  notice.  Mechanically 
his  hand  had  sought  the  withered  rosebud  in  his 
breast-pocket ;  his  lips  moved. 

Un  pen  d?  amour, 
Un  peu  de  reve, 
Etpuis  —  bonjour  I 

he  repeated  to  himself.  His  eyes  were  fixed,  not 
upon  the  two  sunlighted  figures,  standing  together 
upon  their  green  island,  but  upon  Allard's  soli- 
tary figure  seated  in  thick  shadow  on  the  crum- 
bling tomb  under  the  horizon. 

Noemie  meantime  was  suffering  an  agony  of 
shamed  reaction.  The  sight  of  Allard,  coming 


MIDI  145 

with  springing  step  toward  her,  had  moved  her 
to  a  frenzy  of  anger.  "  His  treachery  to  me  is 
past  forgiveness,"  she  had  thought  tumultuously; 
"his  dishonor  in  stooping  to  such  a  liaison  is 
shameless  enough;  but  that  he  should  dare  to 
show  himself  here  —  anywhere  ! — with  that  smile 
on  his  lips,  when  that  poor,  bedizened  creature 
who  died  in  his  arms  is  hardly  yet  cold  in  her 
grave  !  It  is  monstrous  ! " 

The  one  desire  uppermost  in  her  mind  was  to 
escape  his  hated  presence ;  to  show  him  by  some 
overt  act,  not  only  her  scorn  of  him,  but  the  gulf 
that  henceforth  yawned  between  them. 

Anger  and  scorn  still  possessed  her ;  but  with 
these  now  mingled  a  sense  of  maidenly  shame  at 
her  own  sudden  defiance  of  convention.  Yes ! 
She  loved  Cortland;  this  she  had  told  herself 
stormily  over  and  over  again  during  the  past 
three  or  four  days.  She  meant  to  marry  him. 
Only  not  yet !  "  Yes,  I  think  I  am  sure;  but  — 
wait  a  little,"  she  said,  almost  humbly  now,  —  for 
Cortland,  out  of  hearing,  but  in  full  sight  of  the 
others,  was  urging  an  open  engagement. 

"So  be  it!"  he  said  exultantly.  He  bent  to 
brush  from  her  laces  a  gray  spider  which  had 


146  THE  PRICE  OF  SILENCE 

crawled  from  the  half -open  heart  of  a  rose  on  her 
bosom.  To  Allard  the  movement  must  have  had 
the  appearance,  as  Cortland  instantly  divined,  of 
lover-like  familiarity.  The  thought  added  further 
to  the  intoxication  of  his  triumph.  "  Now  ! "  he 
murmured  half-aloud,  "now  I  am  paid.  I  am 
paid ! "  His  mind  had  once  more  leaped  irresistibly 
back  into  the  past,  and  lighted  upon  a  moment 
when  he,  the  barefoot  boy,  standing  like  a  whipped 
cur  between  the  planter  whose  desk  he  had  robbed 
and  the  grinning  black  body-servant  who  had 
caught  him  in  the  act,  had  registered  a  silent  vow 
to  "get  even  "  in  some  way  with  both,  —  the  black 
and  the  white  !  His  thoughts  ran  like  flame  down 
the  years,  touching  into  vivid  glare  the  various 
steps  by  which  he  had  climbed — or  fallen ;  throw- 
ing into  bold  and  strange  relief  things,  places, 
people ;  illuminating  with  a  broad  beam,  as  if  it 
were  a  culminating  point,  the  library  of  the  ho- 
tel de  Laussan  where  an  old  woman  and  her  some- 
time slave  quivered  under  his  touch.  His!  the 
poor  white !  An  insolent  smile  parted  his  lips ; 
his  time  had  indeed  come.  Yonder  the  wonder- 
ing gang  of  aristocrats;  here  the  whipped  cur  — 
and  the  beautiful  young  — 


MIDI  147 

Noemie's  voice  broke  in  upon  his  orgy  of  vain- 
glory. "  Let  us  join  the  others,"  she  said  dully. 

Allard  had  already  quitted  the  old  brick  tomb. 
Noemie  felt,  rather  than  saw,  his  tall  figure  mov- 
ing rapidly  toward  the  upper  gate  of  the  park, 
as  she  followed  Cortland  across  the  foot-bridge 
and  up  the  flower-starred  slope.  His  clear  halloo 
came  floating  back.  Lifting  her  eyes  in  spite  of 
herself,  she  caught  a  final  glimpse  of  him  stepping 
upon  the  platform  of  a  passing  car. 


XIV 

SIRENE 

SIRfeNE  came  out  of  the  Cathedral  St.  Louis  by 
the  side  door  which  gives  upon  the  Allee  St. 
Antoine,  and  sped  homeward.  Her  eyes  under 
their  thick,  black  brows  resembled  the  eyes  of  a 
bloodhound ;  there  were  red  flames  in  their  tawny 
depths.  "  I  have  broken  the  oath  which  I  took 
•with  my  hands  between  the  hands  of  my  mis- 
tress," she  muttered,  edging  along  the  house 
fronts  with  the  quick,  stealthy  grace  of  a  wild- 
cat. "My  bones  will  crumble  in  my  body  before 
I  die;  the  meat  will  rot  into  shreds  upon  them. 
But  the  Little  Mistress  will  have  peace.  'Sieur 
Maxime  will  see  to  it  that  the  Little  Mistress 
has  peace.  And  the  child,  Noemie,  will  be  set 
free.  Can  any  one  blind  the  eyes  of  Sirene  ? 
The  child  has  been  voodooed  by  that  dog  of  a 
buckra-man."  She  spat  into  the  air.  "  Ohe  !  son 
of  the  devil,  there  is  a  man  at  your  heel  now. 
He  will  get  the  letter ;  and  when  the  letter  is 


SIR£NE  149 

burned,  it  is  the  woman  at  your  back,  it  is  Si- 
rene,  who  will  bring  the  curse  upon  you ! " 

Left  behind,  in  the  semi-obscurity  of  the  cathe- 
dral, Allard  waited,  giving  the  mulattress  time 
to  reach  her  home.  He  slipped  out  of  the  high, 
wooden  pew  where  he  had  listened  to  the  reve- 
lation poured  in  fierce  undertones  into  his  strained 
ears  by  the  black-robed  figure  kneeling  at  his 
elbow,  and  walked  back  to  the  vestibule.  There, 
leaning  against  the  wrought-iron  railing  which 
protects  the  baptismal  font,  he  went  over  in  his 
mind  the  fragmentary  story,  trying  to  fit  the 
apparently  irrelevant  parts  into  something  like  a 
connected  whole.  Much  remained  inexplicable, 
but  he  had  gathered  enough  to  fill  him  with 
horror  and  apprehension.  The  officer  who  had 
led  Butler's  Provost  Guard  into  the  de  Laussan 
house  that  long-gone  day  was  —  Cortland's  father! 
Cortland's  father  !  It  required  an  effort  to  tear 
his  thoughts  away  from  this  astounding  fact. 
Cortland's  father  had  stolen  —  the  word  was  Si- 
rene's  —  a  jeweled  box  which  contained,  among 
other  valuables,  a  letter  of  the  greatest  import- 
ance to  Madame  de  Laussan,  and  to  Mam'selle 
Noemie.  Cortland  had  threatened  the  Little  Mis- 


150  THE  PRICE  OF  SILENCE 

tress  with  this  letter.  No,  the  child  did  not 
know  about  the  letter;  she  did  not  know  that 
Cortland's  father  was  a  Yankee  thief;  the  poor 
bebe  was  voodooed  by  that  son  of  the  devil. 
The  Little  Mistress  was  afraid  ;  the  Little  Mis- 
tress had  already  paid  many  thousands  of  dollars 
to  Cortland  to  give  her  that  letter.  But,  though 
he  promised,  he  keeps  the  letter,  the  dog  of  hell ! 
He  wants  the  child,  Noemie ;  he  will  buy  the 
poor  little  angel  with  the  letter  —  No,  the  child 
knows  nothing ;  she  is  voodooed.  Can  any  one 
blind  the  eyes  of  Sirene,  who  nursed  her  and 
her  mother  before  her  ? 

Through  the  velvety  shadows  of  the  cathedral 
Allard  saw  the  red  flames  shoot  into  the  woman's 
suddenly  lifted  eyes.  No,  she  could  not  tell  'Sieur 
Maxime  what  was  in  the  letter  (she  shivered  as  if 
struck  by  a  north  wind),  since,  after  all,  he  might 
not  find  it  —  and  then,  why  should  he  know? 
Besides,  she  had  broken  one  oath,  taken  with 
her  hands  between  the  hands  of  the  Little  Mis- 
tress; but  when  she  had  sworn  not  to  tell  what 
was  in  the  letter  her  heart  was  against  the  heart 
of  the  Little  Mistress !  "  Get  that  letter  for  the 
love  of  God,  'Sieur  Maxime,"  she  had  ended, 


SIK&NE  151 

with  a  piteous  break  in  her  voice ;  "  and  after- 
ward— "  She  shook  her  head  until  the  great 
hoops  in  her  ears  beat  her  jaws  with  their  dull 
gold.  "  I  know  not  where  that  letter  is.  He  says — 
tongue  of  a  liar !  —  that  he  has  given  it  to  his 
lawyer  to  keep.  Therefore,  I  know  he  keeps  it 
himself.  It  must  be  that  he  carries  it  about  his 
body,  for  I  have  searched  his  bedchamber  in  the 
boarding-house  where  he  lives.  Oh,  but  his 
chest,  his  portmanteau,  his  mattress,  his  pillows, 
the  clock  on  his  mantel,  the  matting  on  his  floor. 
It  is  not  there." 

"  Sh-h ! "  A  young  priest,  attracted  by  an 
unwonted  stir  of  voices,  was  walking  down  the 
broad  aisle.  "Go,  Siren e,"  whispered  Allard;  "I 
will  —  " 

He  had  not  finished  the  sentence.  The  mu- 
lattress,  with  a  nod  of  complete  confidence,  had 
arisen  from  her  knees  and  was  gliding  toward 
the  door ;  she  dipped  her  fingers  in  the  vessel  of 
holy  water  as  she  passed  it,  and  crossed  herself 
devoutly. 

Allard  concerned  himself  less  about  the  mysteri- 
ous letter  than  about  another  point  in  Sirene's 
story.  The  letter,  he  argued,  could  only  be  some 


152  THE  PRICE  OF  SILENCE 

document  relating  to  the  de  Laussan  estate  — 
perhaps  a  will  which  might  involve  the  passing 
of  the  de  Laussan  property,  on  the  death  of  her 
great-aunt  and  adopted  grandmother,  to  some 
other  than  Noemie;  at  all  events,  some  bugbear 
which  Monsieur  Paturin  could  long  ago  have  put 
to  rout  if  Madame  de  Laussan  had  not  so  unac- 
countably fallen  into  terror  of  a  villain,  working 
for  ends  of  his  own  upon  her  fears.  Allard 
burned  with  indignation,  remembering  Madame 
de  Laussan's  visit  to  the  money-lender, — so  inex- 
plicable to  him  at  the  time,  —  the  face,  white  and 
drawn,  in  the  shadows  of  the  carriage,  the  trem- 
bling fingers  clasped  about  an  oblong  package ! 
He  recalled  the  sudden  withdrawal  of  the  grande 
dame  from  the  world  in  which  she  had  so  long 
moved,  a  power  and  a  delight;  and  Noemie's 
wistful  anxiety  about  her.  Noemie!  the  name 
pushed  itself  like  a  thorn  into  his  sore  heart. 
Here  was  the  vital  point  of  Sirene's  disclosures. 
He  smiled  scornfully  over  the  old  bonne's  notion 
of  a  voodoo  spell ;  that  Noemie  Carrington  really 
loved  this  base  creature  he  had  come  to  under- 
stand but  too  well.  But  oh,  the  shame  of  it !  the 
pity  of  it !  An  exquisite,  white  flower  dropped 


SIRENE  153 

into  filth  and  slime;  a  dainty,  winged  spirit 
caught  in  the  maw  of  an  unclean  monster !  "  She 

o 

is  not  for  me,"  he  murmured,  threading  his  way 
through  the  dusky  stillness  of  the  cathedral,  and 
stepping  out  into  the  mellow  afternoon  sunshine. 
"She  has  shown  me,  publicly,  the  scorn  with 
which  she  regards  me;  yet  for  the  life  of  me  I 
cannot  understand  —  unless  it  be  that  Cortland 
has  poisoned  her  mind  —  why  she  is  so  changed 
toward  me !  No,  she  is  not  for  me.  But  she 
shall  be  saved  from  that  scoundrel  —  in  spite  of 
herself  if  need  be  ! " 

He  crossed  Jackson  Square,  the  ancient  Place 
d'Armes,  which  smelled  of  violets  and  roses. 
Beyond,  the  electric  car,  whirling  him  toward  the 
Barracks,  was  hindered  for  a  moment  on  a  corner. 
Glancing  without  intention  into  a  common  grog- 
shop which  faced  the  levee,  he  caught  a  glimpse 
of  the  man  uppermost  in  his  thoughts.  Cortland 
was  leaning  against  the  sloppy  bar ;  he  was  alone, 
and  held  in  his  upraised  hand  a  glass  of  liquor; 
his  face  was  flushed ;  an  unpleasant  leer  sat  in 
his  eyes.  It  was  all  Allard  could  do  to  keep  from 
leaping  from  the  car  to  fling  himself  upon  the 
solitary  drinker  and  throttle  him  where  he  stood. 


XV 

THE    LETTER 

ri  1HE  next  night  Captain  Allard,  too  pre- 
-•-  occupied  and  too  self-absorbed  to  remain  at 
the  club  where  he  had  dined  with  some  friends, 
passed  with  a  quick,  military  tread  across  Canal 
Street,  and  entered  the  French  Quarter  by  way 
of  Rue  Bourbon.  He  had,  it  must  be  confessed, 
the  half-formed  intention  of  ringing  boldly  at 
the  de  Laussan  door  and  demanding  an  interview 
with — Madame  de  Laussan?  Noemie?  He  had 
not  got  far  enough  to  decide  which,  or  what  he 
should  say  to  one  or  the  other  in  excuse  for  his 
intrusion.  Stay,  should  he  not  rather  see  Cort- 
land,  and  tax  him  outright  with  his  baseness? 
He  instantly  rejected  this  proposition  as  prema- 
ture, knowing  that  he  would  be  at  a  disadvan- 
tage in  the  presence  of  the  man  whom  Noemie  — 
loved. 

He  walked  on  uncertainly.    The  street  between 
the  tall,  steep-roofed  houses  became  more  and 


THE  LETTER  155 

more  filled  with  shadow  as  he  proceeded.  Here 
and  there,  in  those  ilets  nearest  Canal  Street, 
people  were  sitting  on  the  banquettes  after  the 
familiar  and  pleasant  fashion  of  the  Quarter; 
window  shutters  were  outflung  ;  voices  came 
drifting  out.  Through  one  open  door  he  saw 
young  people  gathered  about  a  piano ;  they  were 
singing  snatches  from  grand  opera.  Down  long 
alleyways,  pitch-dark,  he  divined  courtyards 
which  sent  into  the  night  air  the  breath  of 
night-blooming  jessamine.  Moving  swiftly  along, 
he  came  at  length  to  the  arcade  of  the  French 
Opera  House.  The  season  was  long  over,  and 
the  heavy  boarding  which  protects  the  entrance- 
stairs  and  the  offices  below  was  in  place ;  the 
shadows  within  the  arcade  open  to  the  street 
were  thick  and  close;  a  musty  odor  as  of  dead 
"  seasons "  and  singers  clung  to  them.  A  light 
burned  in  the  small  cafe  nearly  opposite.  As 
Allard  passed  under  the  pillared  arcade,  a  man 
appeared  in  the  doorway  of  the  cafe ;  he  stood  for 
a  moment  silhouetted  against  the  yellow  glare,  a 
hand  on  either  jamb ;  then  he  descended  the  low 
steps  and  crossed  the  street  with  an  unsteady  gait. 
He  stepped  upon  the  opposite  banquette  and 


156  THE   PRICE  OF  SILENCE 

lurched  heavily  against  Allard,  righting  himself 
with  difficulty.  "  D — n  you  !  "  he  growled  in  a 
thick  voice,  "can't  you  keep  yo'  own  shide  th* 
f  ench ! "  It  was  Cortland.  "  Gimme  light,"  he  con- 
tinued. He  steadied  himself  with  a  hand  on  the 
officer's  shoulder.  Allard  obeyed  mechanically, 
his  thoughts  darting  about  in  a  blind  attempt  to 
seize  the  word  which  might  turn  this  opportune 
meeting  to  account.  Even  his  disgust  of  the 
man,  augmented  by  his  present  condition,  was 
lost  in  this  fever  of  excitement.  He  produced 
his  match-box.  The  match  flared  up,  the  thin 
flume  of  flame  wavering  in  the  night  air.  "  Hullo ! 
Ish  you,  hey?"  Cortland  exclaimed,  with  drunken 
familiarity.  "IshAllar'!  D—n  fool,  Allar' !"  He 
laughed  foolishly,  making  an  unsuccessful  effort 
to  fit  the  end  of  his  cigar  to  the  light  in  Allard's 
hand.  "Goo' joke  on  you,  old  man!"  He  essayed 
a  poke  under  his  companion's  ribs,  and  was 
saved  a  fall  by  Allard's  timely  arm.  "  Goo'  joke 
on  Allar'!"  ' 

"Do  you  think  so?"  Allard  said  carelessly. 
"I  don't  think  much  of  it  myself." 

"  Oh !  you  don't,  hey ! "  The  thick  voice,  stirred 
to  obstinate  anger,  was  almost  sobered.  "  Well, 


THE  LETTER  157 

I  do.  I  worked  it,  d — n  me,  I  worked  it.  Goo' 
joke,  I  shay  !  " 

"How  did  you  work  it?"  Allard  asked  it 
with  great  deference. 

Cortland  laughed ;  again  a  note  of  cunning 
mingled  with  his  inane  cackle. 

"I  tol'  Pep-p-pita —  you  'member  Pep-p-p- 
pita,  hey  ?  Cu-b-b-b  —  d — n  it !  Pep-p  — 
dansher.  Devlish  goo'-looker,  you  know  — " 

"  You  —  you  told  Pepita  ?  " 

"Tol'  Pepp —  Aer,  d — n  it!  dansher,  tol' 
her  I  'd  m-marry  her  if  she  'd  write  note  to  Allar', 
'n  if  she  'd  holler  for  Allar'.  She  did  it  aw  ri'. 
Devlish  goo'-looker  Pepp  —  d — n  it !  Dansher. 
Goo'  joke  !  Ha  !  Ha  !  " 

"  Ha !  Ha ! "  echoed  Allard,  like  a  parrot. 
"  Good  joke  on  Allard.  Did  n't  know  you  had  it 
in  you,  Cortland." 

Cortland  straightened  himself  at  the  flattery, 
patting  his  crumpled  shirt  front  with  a  pleased 
hand.  "  Thought  I  wash  fool,  hey  ?  May  be  po' 
whi'  trash,  but  no  fool,  no  fool,  d — n  you, 
no  fool." 

"  You  are  a  genius !  "  cried  Allard,  admiringly, 
his  fist  clinched,  his  nails  digging  into  the  palms 


158  THE  PRICE  OF  SILENCE 

of  his  hands,  his  teeth  drawing  blood  from  his 
lips. 

Cortland  wagged  his  head  solemnly.  "  Pep-p- 
p-pita  wrote  note  to  Allar'  !  Shee  ?  D — n  fool, 
Allar' !  He  comes  to  shee  danshe.  Noemie  comes 
too.  I  shee  to  that." 

"  What  /"  shouted  Allard,  off  his  guard. 

But  Cortland  was  too  full  of  himself  to  note 
the  sudden  angry  outcry.  "  Noemie !  "  he  re- 
peated, started  upon  a  new  tack  by  the  introduc- 
tion of  the  name.  "D — d  fine  filly,  Noemie. 
Goin'  to  run  her  myself  in  nex'  rashe.  Shay,  ole 
boy,  you  know  ashtocratic  white-headed  ole  girl  ? 
Missus  de  Laussan  ?  Hates  me  !  Goo'  joke.  I  've 
got  letter.  Ever  shee  letter  ?  " 

The  coarse  voice  was  thickening.  Allard  had 
lost  the  power  of  speech.  His  eyes,  accustomed  to 
the  obscurity,  were  fastened  on  Cortland's  hand 
fumbling  in  an  inner  pocket;  the  diamond  on  the 
little  finger,  scintillating  in  the  light  of  the  cigar 
in  the  man's  mouth,  appeared  and  disappeared. 
"  Where  devil  ish  letter  ?  "  muttered  the  drunken 
seeker,  dragging  forth  a  notebook  and  thrusting 
it  back.  "  Reckon  ish  losh."  A  couple  of  men 
passing  up  the  street  echoed  his  braying  laugh. 


THE  LETTER  159 

Allard  waited  in  an  agony  of  impatience.  But 
Cortland,  his  attention  distracted  by  a  passing 
car,  had  already  veered  about. 

"Shay,  I'm  d — d  thirsty!"  he  announced; 
and,  chanting  the  chorus  of  a  vulgar  ballad,  he 
recrossed  the  street,  staggering,  to  the  cabaret. 
Allard  watched  him,  again  framed  for  a  second 
in  the  doorway,  then  disappearing  into  the  dim- 
lit  interior.  He  felt  baffled,  defeated,  impotent; 
stunned,  besides,  by  the  blackness  of  the  soul  into 
which  he  had  gazed. 

He  turned  ;  something  caught  in  a  corner  of 
his  outer  pocket  slipped  and  fell  with  a  whis- 
pering rustle  to  the  ground.  He  stooped  to  pick 
it  up,  thrilled  to  feel  between  his  fingers  the  thin, 
foreign,  folded  paper. 

Fifteen  minutes  later  he  sat  in  a  private  room 
at  a  nearby  restaurant.  An  open  letter  lay  on 
the  table,  under  his  hand ;  he  smoothed  it  out, 
rereading  again  and  again  the  dim  lines  on  the 
yellowed  paper.  It  was  dated  April,  1861,  and 
signed,  "  Gabrielle  Verac  de  Laussan." 


XVI 

A  CONSULTATION 

TOWARD  ten  o'clock  the  same  evening  Major 
Leon  Grandchamps  sat  dozing  in  his  great 
armchair.  His  sumptuous  bachelor  apartment  in 
Rue  Rampart — for  the  major  had  been  a  widower 
these  thirty  years  —  was  flooded  with  light.  On 
a  table  at  the  sleeper's  elbow  were  a  couple  of 
decanters,  a  tray  of  tall-stemmed  glasses,  a  rack 
of  pipes,  a  tobacco-jar  filled  with  Perique,  and 
a  box  of  Habanos,  which  gave  out  a  subtle  aroma 
to  the  warm  air.  Roses  from  the  ancient  garden 
in  the  rear  of  the  Grandchamps  mansion  filled 
the  crystal  vases  on  the  mantel;  a  pair  of  fen- 
cing-foils were  laid  across  the  solitaire -board 
which  rested  upon  the  tabouret  at  the  major's 
knee ;  a  sword  which  had  been  under  discussion 
the  night  before  glittered  unsheathed,  on  a 
card-table  set  out  with  lighted  candles  in  silver 
candelabra  and  fresh  packs  of  cards.  The  major 
was  in  evening  dress,  a  pleasant  duty  he  imposed 


A  CONSULTATION  161 

upon  himself  even  when  he  dined  alone,  as  he  had 
done  this  evening. 

From  that  half  of  the  house  presided  over  by 
the  major's  widowed  daughter,  Madame  Berthet, 
there  came,  borne  across  intervening  halls,  but 
muffled  by  many  portiered  doors,  the  sound  of 
music  intermingled  with  the  hum  of  voices  and 
the  echoes  of  light  laughter.  It  was  the  evening 
at  home  of  Madame  and  Mademoiselle  Berthet. 
Later,  doubtless,  the  major  would  drop  in  upon  his 
daughter  and  her  guests. 

The  sharp  clang  of  the  bell  at  his  private  en- 
trance awoke  the  sleeper.  He  sat  up,  smilingly 
expectant.  It  was  a  full  hour  and  more  earlier 
than  the  Cerde  was  wont  nightly  to  assemble. 
Quelle  chance,  mon  Dieu  I  He  rubbed  his  slim 
hands  delightedly,  and  arose,  casting  the  host's 
last  critical  glance  about  the  long  salon.  Cesar, 
his  old  factotum,  —  valet,  butler,  chef, — presently 
appeared,  sweeping  back  the  heavy  curtain  drap- 
ing the  doorway.  A  quick  tread  sounded  along 
the  hall ;  the  negro  turned  one  wild,  apprehensive 
glance  over  his  shoulder  toward  the  approaching 
guest,  and  another  upon  his  master.  "  Monsieur 
le  Capitaine  Maxime  Allard ! "  he  announced  pom- 


162  THE   PRICE  OF  SILENCE 

pously.  "  Pardon,  'Sieur  Le'on  !  "  He  dropped 
the  curtain  and  fled  before  the  purple  wrath  upon 
his  master's  face. 

"  Monsieur  le  Cap — "  gasped  Major  Grand- 
champs  ;  "  what  audacity !  How  dare  you  ?  "  he 
began  in  his  precise  French.  His  eyes  fell  upon 
the  tall,  slim  young  man,  attired  in  obtrusive,  un- 
ornamented  dark  blue,  and  his  manner  underwent 
swift  transition  from  angry  protest  to  joyous 
hospitality.  The  old  eyes  sparkled,  the  purple  in 
the  furrowed  face  turned  to  welcoming  red. 
"  Fernand  Allard  !  Mon  vieux  !  "  he  cried,  "  it 
is  thou !  At  last !  Ah,  but  I  have  missed  thee, 
my  comrade,  my  brother !  "  He  opened  wide  his 
arms.  Allard  controlled  an  impulse  to  throw 
himself  into  those  arms,  which  had  often  been 
the  refuge  of  his  childhood. 

"  I  wish  it  were  my  father,  sir,"  he  said  quietly. 
"  But  may  not  the  son  of  Fernand  Allard  claim 
somewhat,  too?  I  am  Maxime." 

"  May  the  devil  choke  you  and  your  father 
on  the  same  potato ! "  roared  the  old  man,  his 
anger  increased  tenfold  by  his  own  misapprehen- 
sion. "  You  —  you  scoundrel !  How  dare  you 
pollute  this  house  by  entering  it  with  the  brand 


A  CONSULTATION  163 

of  the  Yankee  on  your  back,  and  the  brand  of  a 
traitor  on  your  forehead  —  " 

"Major  Grandchamps,  I  beg  you  to  hear 
me,"  interrupted  Allard,  advancing. 

"You  will  leave  this  house,  sir.  On  the  in- 
stant, Captain  Allard.  Your  presence  here,  sir, 
is  more  than  an  impertinence.  It  is  an  insult ! " 

"  What  I  have  to  say,"  insisted  Allard,  taking 
advantage  of  the  major's  necessity  to  find  breath 
to  proceed,  "  is  of  the  greatest  moment.  It  con- 
cerns neither  you  nor  myself,  but  your  kins- 
woman and  ward,  Mademoiselle  Noemie  Carring- 
ton." 

"  Ah ! "  The  words  seemed  to  lash  the  major 
into  an  uncontrollable  fury.  "  Maxime  Allard, 
if  you  soil  that  name  again  upon  your  lips,  I  will 
run  you  through  like  a  dog.  By  God,  I  will  rid 
the  world  of  a  rascal,  anyhow  !  "  He  seized  the 
naked  sword  as  he  spoke,  and  rushed  blindly 
forward. 

"  And  I  tell  you,  by  God,  that  you  shall  hear 
me ! "  cried  Allard,  springing  to  one  side,  and 
then  leaping  upon  the  infuriated  veteran.  He 
wrenched  the  weapon  from  the  shaking  hand 
that  held  it,  and  flung  it  behind  him,  and  quietly 


164  THE  PRICE  OF  SILENCE 

but  firmly  forced  the  spare  form  backward  and 
into  the  armchair.  Then,  without  giving  him 
time  to  recover  breath,  he  began  in  a  clear  and 
steady  voice  to  state  the  object  of  his  visit. 

This  time  the  purple  in  the  old  cheeks  faded 
to  a  ghastly  pallor;  amazed,  incredulous  ejacula- 
tions burst  from  the  quivering  lips.  "Impos- 
sible ! "  he  whispered  at  length.  "  Impossible  !  — 
Poor  Gabrielle !  She  may  be  living  still  — I  do  not 
know.  But  Armand  de  Laussan,  poor  boy,  he  is 
long  dead.  He  fell  at  Manassas  —  the  letter  seems 
to  be  genuine.  Stay,  I  will  compare  it  —  "  He  got 
up  stiffly  and  took  a  bundle  of  time-worn  letters 
from  a  tall  escritoire,  running  them  over  as  he 
returned  to  his  chair.  "  The  same.  I  thought  so. 
Gabrielle' s  handwriting  was  unlike  any  other  I 
have  ever  seen.  What  a  light  on  her  inexplic- 
able flight !  But  impossible !  Monstrous ! " 

The  stream  of  words  fell  as  if  unconsciously 
from  his  lips;  his  eyes  were  half  closed.  "Let 
me  think  again.  I  was  in  Paris  myself  just  before 
Armand  de  Laussan  —  the  brother  of  Nemours, 
who  married  my  cousin  Laure  Destrehan  —  mar- 
ried la  belle  Gabrielle.  May  I  ask  how  this 
letter  came  into  your  possession,  Captain  Allard?  " 


MAJOR    GRANDCHAMPS 


A  CONSULTATION  165 

he  opened  his  eyes  to  demand  sharply.  His  hand 
rested  on  the  page  signed  "  Gabrielle  Verac  de 
Laussan ;"  it  was  spread  out  on  the  table  in  the 
steady  light  of  the  candles. 

"Pardon,  Major  Grandchamps,"  returned  the 
younger  man,  after  a  moment  of  hesitation,  dur- 
ing which  he  swiftly  determined  that  Cortland's 
connection  with  the  affair  —  his  origin,  his  char- 
acter, his  schemes  —  should  for  the  present  re- 
main known  to  himself  alone;  "  pardon,  but  with 
your  permission  I  will  reserve  my  answer  to  this 
question  for  a  later  time.  But  I  assure  you  —  " 

"  You  are  the  son  of  Fernand  Allard  —  may  the 
devil  fly  away  with  him !  I  need  no  further  as- 
surance. Are  the  contents  of  the  letter  known  to 
any  one  beside  yourself?" 

"  Unfortunately,  yes.  Therefore,  we  must  act 
at  once."  He  wiped  the  cold  sweat  from  his 
forehead ;  a  vision  of  Cortland's  drunken  face, 
leering  at  him  across  the  feeble  glare  of  a  match, 
rising  before  him. 

"  At  once  !  "  Major  Grandchamps  squared  his 
shoulders.  "  How  soon  can  you  start  for  France?  " 
he  asked,  drawing  paper  and  pen  toward  him, 
and  adjusting  his  pince-nez. 


166  THE  PRICE   OF  SILENCE 

"Almost  immediately.  My  furlough  is  due, 
and,  happily,  it  may  be  extended  to  two  months, 
or  longer,  as  I  have  had  no  leave  since  I  went 
out  to  the  Philippines." 

"Good!  It  will  take  time."  The  old  man 
wrote  rapidly  for  some  moments ;  he  added  to 
the  letter,  addressed  to  "M.  Henri  Saint-Cyr, 
avocat,  rue  des  Capucines,  Paris,  France,"  a  slip 
covered  with  memoranda, —  notes,  names,  sug- 
gestions, addresses,  —  and  handed  both  to  Allard. 
"  It  is  I  who  should  go,"  he  said,  after  the  inti- 
mate consultation  which  followed ;  "  but  I  am  not 
so  young  as  I  was  dans  le  temps  I  I  should  be 
snapped  up  by  the  gout  after  my  first  dinner 
with  Saint-Cyr,  helas  !  "  He  leaned  back  in  his 
chair  and  closed  his  eyes  again.  "  La  belle  Ga- 
brielle ! "  he  sighed  softly.  "  Good  God !  the 
thing  is  impossible  !  Pauvre  enfant!" 

"  Has  he  forgotten  Noemie  ?  "  wondered  the 
young  man,  with  a  jealous  pang.  "  And  Madame 
de  Laussan  ! " 

"  One  thing  more,  Major  Grandchamps,"  he 
added  aloud,  rising  and  placing  the  letter  and 
memoranda,  with  Madame  Armand  de  Laussan's 
long-lost  note,  in  his  breast-pocket;  he  laid  a 


A  CONSULTATION  167 

not  over-steady  hand  on  the  back  of  a  chair 
as  he  confronted  his  host.  "  One  thing  more. 
Mademoiselle  Carrington  —  " 

"She  does  not  know?"  cried  Major  Grand- 
champs,  starting  up  in  alarm. 

"  No,  oh,  no !  God  forbid  that  she  should  ever 
know.  But  —  Mademoiselle  Carrington  is,  I  be- 
lieve, betrothed  to  Mr.  Sidney  Cortland  "  —  he 
spoke  the  name  with  an  effort. 

"  Yes,  I  know.  He  is,  in  my  opinion,  a  cad. 
But  my  cousin,  Madame  de  Laussan  —  " 

u  Major  Grandchamps,  may  I  ask  you,  without 
for  the  moment  exposing  my  reasons  therefor,  to 
promise  me  that  this  —  marriage  shall  not  take 
place  during  my  absence?" 

"  I  will,  gladly.  Besides,  it  is  necessary  under 
the  circumstances  —  the  supposed  circumstances. 
No  man  would  offer  —  " 

Allard  winced  visibly. 

"  I  desire,"  he  interrupted,  gripping  the  back 
of  the  chair  still  more  firmly,  "  before  I  go,  to 
make  through  you  the  offer  of  my  hand  to  Made- 
moiselle Noemie  Carrington  —  " 

"Maxime!"  The  major  sprang  up,  his  face 
expressing  at  once  admiration  and  unbelief. 


168  THE   PRICE  OF  SILENCE 

"You  cannot  mean  it !  When  this — this  doubt  is 
removed —  if  this  doubt  should  be  removed, 
then  —  " 

"  I  love  Noemie,"  Allard  broke  in,  with  a  proud 
uplift  of  the  head.  "I  have  always  loved  her. 
Whatever  happens  —  if  she  should  find  her- 
self free,  if — she  should  not  marry  —  Cortland, 
and  if  I  am  fortunate  enough  to  win  her  love, 
I  would  be  the  happiest  man  alive  with  her  for 
my  wife.  Please  remember  this,  sir,  whatever 
happens  !  And  now  —  "  he  inclined  his  head  in 
a  formal  salute,  speaking  in  a  conventional  voice 
—  "  permit  me  once  more  to  crave  the  pardon  of 
Monsieur  le  Major  Grandchamps  for  intruding 
upon  him,  and  for  a  certain  roughness  toward 
him  which,  under  other  circumstances,  would  be 
unforgivable." 

Major  Grandchamps  listened  with  a  gravity 
equal  to  Allard's  own.  "Maxime,  you  young 
puppy ! "  he  shouted  at  length,  bursting  into  a 
laugh  which  was  half  a  sob.  "  You  are  your 
father's  own  cub !  Did  he  ever  tell  you  —  but 
of  course  he  did  not,  the  tete  de  bois  ! — how  he 
carried  me  to  the  rear,  with  a  shot  through  my 
leg,  from  the  field  of  the  Wilderness,  grape  and 


A  CONSULTATION  169 

canister  raining  on  him  the  whole  way,  the  mad- 
man !  And  then  cut  my  acquaintance  when  I  came 
out  of  hospital  because  I  made  blackberry  crepes 
without  sugar  —  when  there  wasn't  a  grain  of 
sugar  within  a  hundred  miles  of  us ! "  He  stopped 
to  laugh  uproariously.  "  He  is  the  most  obstinate 
fellow  alive,  d — n  him !  I  '11  fight  him  yet  for 
turning  you  into  a  Yankee,  the  cabbage-pate ! 
I  wish  you  a  good-morning,  Major  Grand- 
champs,  says  your  bulldogship,  with  your  jaw 
set  like  a  rock.  I  won't  have  it,  sir,  do  you  hear? 
Don't  shake  your  head  at  me,  your  renegade ! 
Come  here,  rascal,  vaurien  uniform  and  all !  Who 
am  I,  sir?  Why,  I  am  your  uncle  Grandchamps, 
that 's  who  !  your  parrain,  that 's  who  !  "  He 
opened  wide  his  arms  once  more,  and  this  time 
Maxime,  with  a  rush  of  happy  tears  to  his  eyes, 
leaped  into  the  old  shelter. 


XVII 

CORTLAND 

/PORTLAND'S  physical  discomfort  on  awaking 
^— 'some  hours  after  midnight  from  the  drunken 
slumber  which  had  overtaken  him  in  the  cabaret 
on  Rue  Bourbon  was  not  improved  by  an  uneasy 
if  vague  consciousness  of  having  talked  in  his 
cups.  But  —  to  whom  ?  And  —  of  what  ?  It 
•was  some  time  before  he  could  remember  any- 
thing clearly,  and  when  Allard's  face,  as  he  had 
seen  it  by  the  light  of  a  match,  did  dawn  into  his 
mind,  he  recalled  broken  fragments  only  of  his 
own  aimless  maunderings.  He  knew  his  power  of 
silence  too  well  to  dream  that  any  reference  to  the 
girl  whom  he  had  so  heartlessly  betrayed  — 
Pepita,  the  Cuban  —  had  escaped  his  lips.  He 
would  have  staked  his  life  against  the  mere  sug- 
gestion of  self -betrayal  in  a  matter  so  vital  to  him- 
self as  the  stolen  letter. 

His  rage  and  alarm  on  discovering  the  loss  of 
the  letter  were  extreme.   Failing  to  find  it  in  the 


CORTLAND  171 

memorandum-book  where  he  kept  it,  or  anywhere 
about  his  person,  he  rushed,  completely  sobered 
by  this  piece  of  ill-luck,  to  his  rooms,  and  sought 
for  it  there  as  thoroughly  as  Sirene  had  done, 
cheating  himself  with  the  hope  that  he  might, 
absently,  have  placed  it  in  some  hiding-place  there. 
His  search,  needless  to  record,  was  as  fruitless  as 
Sirene's  own.  As  he  threw  himself,  baffled  and 
overdone,  into  a  chair,  he  had  one  of  those 
flashes  of  light,  unaccountable,  mysterious,  which 
sometimes  illumine  a  single  spot,  a  word,  a  ges- 
ture, on  the  canvas  of  memory,  leaving  all  else 
in  darkness;  he  saw,  as  if  with  his  bodily  eyes, 
the  thin  envelope  detach  itself  from  the  sheaf  of 
papers  in  his  hand  and  flutter  slowly  outward ; 
at  the  same  time  a  sense  of  the  nearness  of  the 
Theatre  de  1 'Opera  strengthened  the  slight  clue. 
He  hurried  back  to  the  arcade  —  at  that  hour 
absolutely  deserted — and  spent  a  breathless  half 
hour  groping  within  the  thick  shadow ;  thridding 
with  eager  fingers  the  debris  of  the  open  gutter 
along  the  banquette ;  pursuing  wind-blown  scraps 
of  paper  —  in  vain. 

For  weeks  thereafter  he  expected  daily  to  hear 
his  long-guarded  and  negotiable  secret  exploited 


172  THE  PRICE  OF  SILENCE 

at  the  clubs,  on  the  streets,  in  drawing-rooms,  in 
drinking-shops.  He  made  a  pretext  for  an  early 
visit  to  Madame  de  Laussan  in  order  to  draw  con- 
clusions from  any  possible  change  in  her  attitude 
toward  him,  or  in  that  of  her  yellow  tigress ;  he 
watched  Noemie's  face,  pale  and  listless,  —  from 
the  summer's  heat,  they  said.  But  as  the  days 
passed  and  nothing  happened,  his  confidence 
returned.  He  assured  himself  that  the  insignifi- 
cant-looking envelope,  drifted  into  some  recep- 
tacle for  waste,  had  been  carted  off  to  oblivion. 
Nevertheless,  a  residuum  of  doubt  remained  which 
spurred  him  to  renewed  effort  to  obtain  from 
Noemie  the  definite  pledge  which  she  continued 
to  withhold.  Hitherto  he  had  had  the  letter  to  be 
used  as  an  argument  in  case  the  old  woman  should 
balk.  Now  —  well,  the  girl  he  wanted,  and  her 
money !  were  at  stake ;  he  set  his  jaws  together. 
To  do  him  justice,  the  man  loved  Noemie  Car- 
rington  with  all  that  was  best  —  and  worst — in 
his  nature.  The  light  which  burned  in  his  soul 
for  her  was  not  one  of  those  pure  and  ardent 
flames  which  sometimes  glow  like  stars  in  the 
midst  of  sordid  and  depraved  souls,  as  unsullied 
by  the  vice  about  them  as  a  star  by  miasmatic 


CORTLAND  173 

fog.  It  was  rather  a  lurid  and  sulphurous  blaze 
in  which  there  mingled  slight  threads  of  purer 
fire.  The  baser  part  of  him  fed  his  desire  to  pos- 
sess this  exquisite  creature  who  had  come  so 
strangely  into  his  life  —  a  legacy  from  his  father, 
he  sometimes  declared  to  himself,  with  an  exult- 
ant sneer.  Absent  from  her,  he  gloated  fever- 
ishly over  the  memory  of  her  charms,  swearing 
to  push,  at  their  very  next  meeting,  the  power  he 
believed  himself  to  have  over  her  to  the  utmost 
extreme.  At  such  times  he  would  rush  to  her 
house,  fling  himself  like  a  maniac  into  her  pre- 
sence— to  stand  humbled  before  her,  cowed  into 
decency  by  that  nameless  atmosphere  which  envel- 
ops innocent  womanhood.  Once  more  out  of  her 
sight,  he  would  fall  into  blasphemous  rage  over 
what  he  called  his  own  cowardice,  crying  aloud 
to  the  empty  silence  of  his  chamber  his  determina- 
tion to  subdue  her  to  his  will ;  to  make  her  fetch 
and  carry  for  him  like  a  slave ;  to  beat  her  as 
he  would  beat  a  dog.  At  rare  moments,  coupling 
her  name  with  his  mother's,  he  fell  on  his  knees, 
calling  God  to  witness  that  he  would  no  more 
sully  the  purity  of  the  one  than  the  memory  of 
the  other.  In  still  rarer  moments  he  told  him- 


174  THE   PRICE   OF  SILENCE 

self,  with  an  oath,  that  he  would  marry  the  girl 
if  she  were  penniless  ;  but  this  assertion  was  in- 
variably followed  by  a  sardonic  grin  at  his  own 
expense,  and  the  self -admonition  :  "  Not  much, 
you  wouldn't,  Sid,  my  son.  Drive  ahead,  the 
prizes,  both  of  'em,  are  pretty  nearly  yours  ;  and 
if  worst  comes  to  worst,  you  —  and  the  old 
woman  —  know  the  letter  by  heart." 

Nothing  of  all  this,  however,  appeared  in  Cort- 
land's  outward  manner.  Toward  Madame  de 
Laussan,  indeed,  whom  he  continued  to  see  at 
intervals,  he  maintained  an  air  of  insolent  famil- 
iarity, quite  aware  that,  having  herself  once 
more  under  control,  she  was  watching,  warily, 
his  slightest  move.  It  pleased  him  to  keep  alive 
and  quivering  the  terror  which  he  detected  under 
her  calm  exterior.  To  the  rest  of  that  upper 
world  in  which  he  moved  more  and  more  freely, 
he  continued  to  present  the  same  semi-mysterious 
aspect,  so  fascinating  to  women.  He  had  learned 
at  length  the  art  of  seeming  to  hold  himself  aloof 
from  the  men  who  avoided  him.  In  the  under- 
world, the  congenial  atmosphere  of  which  ex- 
panded his  cramped  lungs,  he  paid  himself  liber- 
ally for  all  this  reticence. 


CORTLAND  175 

And  Noemie  ?  With  the  sudden  departure  of 
Allard  for  France,  a  bandage  fell  from  her  eyes. 
She  read  her  own  motives  by  the  pitiless  light  of 
self-examination.  The  glamour  which  had  once 
attached  to  Cortland  was  long  since  dissipated. 
She  saw  him,  not,  indeed,  as  he  really  was,  but 
at  least  as  a  man  of  coarse  fibre,  commonplace, 
uninteresting,  persistent,  tiresome;  yet  she  had 
suffered,  nay,  encouraged  his  advances,  first 
through  coquetry,  then  from  resentment  at  Al- 
lard's  interference,  finally  in  a  frenzy  of  eager- 
ness to  show  the  latter  that  the  lover  of  Pepita, 
the  dancer,  was  less  than  nothing  to  Noemie 
Carrington.  She  appeared  at  length  loathsome 
in  her  own  eyes ;  a  thousand  times  more  culp- 
able than  Maxime,  who  at  least  had  not  been 
ashamed  to  let  the  world  see  his  infatuation  for 
his  light  o*  love.  She  remembered  with  pity  and 
self -torture  the  accusing  sadness  in  his  eyes  that 
morning  in  the  Park  when,  his  heart  already 
wrung —  oh,  she  knew  it  now  !  Cortland  had  told 
her !  —  over  the  death  of  the  girl  he  loved,  she 
herself  had  stabbed  him  so  cruelly,  so  needlessly  ! 
The  recollection  of  the  solitary  figure  leaning 
against  the  old  tomb  was  an  ever-present  accusa- 


176          THE   PRICE  OF   SILENCE 

tion.  He  had  gone  abroad,  so  Cortland  had 
assured  her,  to  seek  through  absence  and  new 
surroundings  some  solace  for  his  grief.  She 
groaned  aloud,  pacing  the  night  away  in  her  dim- 
lit  boudoir.  Oh,  yes,  Donald  was  right.  There 
came  a  time.  She  knew.  It  was  too  late,  forever 
too  late,  but  at  last  she  knew.  The  river  had 
broken  its  dikes ;  she  loved  him,  Allard,  Pepita's 
lover. 

Her  first  impulse  had  been  to  rid  herself  of 
Cortland  ;  he  had  become  in  a  moment  repulsive 
to  her,  though  she  blamed  herself  bitterly  for 
this  feeling,  which  seemed  alike  unjust  to  him 
and  unworthy  of  herself.  During  all  these  months 
she  had  been  reasoning  herself  into  the  belief 
that  she  —  almost  —  loved  him.  She  had  given 
him  reason  to  suppose  that  she  would  be  his  wife. 
Now  the  thought  filled  her  with  horror ;  it  could 
not,  could  not  be ! 

But,  for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  Madame  de 
Laussan,  after  hearing  her  frank  confession,  set 
her  granddaughter's  wish  aside.  She  forbade 
the  girl,  sternly,  to  break  with  Cortland.  "  Not 
yet,  dear  child,  not  yet,"  she  added,  almost  plead- 
ingly, after  her  first  vehement  outburst.  Noemie 


CORTLAND  177 

gazed  at  her  with  anxious  eyes,  feeling  in  the 
well-known  accents  a  strange  vibration  of  terror. 

"Things  must  go  on  as  they  are, for  the  present. 
I  command  yon,"  reiterated  Madame  de  Laussan. 

Noemie  bowed  her  head  silently. 

"  Ohe,  'sieur  le vipere  I "  exulted  Sirene;  "who 
can  blind  the  eyes  of  Sirene  ?  Me,  I  have  known 
from  the  first  that  the  child  was  voodooed ! 
But  the  spell  was  broken.  Nevertheless,  mon 
bebe,  wait,  wait !  Let  him  think  what  he  please  ! 
Tite  Maitresse  will  give  the  word.  Wait,  bebe, 
wait." 


XVIII 

A    MORNING    CALL 

waited,  she  knew  not  for  what. 
One  morning  Cortland,  making  his  cus- 
tomary visit,  found  the  young  girl  in  the  billiard- 
room.  A  wood-fire  crackled  in  the  fireplace,  for 
the  early  November  day  was  unusually  bleak,  — 
one  of  those  never-expected  days  which,  in 
Louisiana,  follow,  and  sometimes  precede,  midsum- 
mer warmth,  and  cause  the  casual  sojourner  to 
glare,  in  his  overcoat  or  furs,  at  the  native, 
and  demand,  with  studied  sarcasm,  to  be  intro- 
duced to  the  sunny  South !  A  small  rosewood 
work-table  of  antique  shape,  with  brass  mount- 
ings, stood  at  Noemie's  elbow ;  an  orderly  disarray 
of  embroidery-silks  lay  in  her  lap  ;  her  eyes  were 
upon  the  spray  of  roses  growing  upon  the  strip 
under  her  busy  needle. 

Cortland,  drawing  a  chair  near  her,  sat  down 
to  feast  his  eyes  upon  her  perhaps  not  wholly  un- 
conscious face, — for  it  was  immediately  suffused 


A  MORNING  CALL  179 

with  a  rising  tide  of  color.  She  had  never,  he 
thought,  seemed  so  desirable,  so  necessary  to  his 
comfort.  But  he  kept  back  the  words  which 
crowded  to  his  lips ;  he  had  learned  to  avoid 
certain  quicksands ;  he  had  seen  with  growing 
irritation  and  alarm  the  involuntary  stiffening  of 
the  slight  figure,  the  withdrawal  in  the  deep  eyes, 
at  the  slightest  reference  to  a  future  which  in- 
cluded himself  with  her.  Was  she  about  to  escape 
him,  after  all?  His  hands  trembled  a  little  with 
repressed  emotion  —  a  little  also  from  the  effects 
of  last  night's  orgy.  He  rested  them  on  the  work 
table,  and  so,  inadvertently,  touched  a  hidden 
spring  in  a  bit  of  carving.  He  started  back,  for 
a  small  drawer  shot  open.  Noemie  smiled  invol- 
untarily at  the  startled  expression  on  his  face. 

"  My  secret  drawer,"  she  explained,  "which,  as 
you  see,  reveals  itself  with  unblushing  readiness 
to  the  first  comer." 

"  Not  an  inviolate  hiding-place,  certainly,"  he 
agreed.  "What  is  this?  The  Lost  Will?  The 
chart  to  a  Monte  Cristo  Island  ?  "  He  extended  to 
her  the  folded  paper  he  had  taken  from  the  little 
drawer. 

"  That,"  she  said  carelessly,  unfolding  and  re- 


180  THE  PRICE  OF  SILENCE 

turning  the  sketch  to  his  hand,  "  is  a  drawing  of 
the  famous  Lafayette  Sword  —  le  sabre  de  mon 
pere.  L'oncle  Grandchamps  made  it  for  me,  from 
memory,  many  years  ago.  I  was  simply  daft 
about  that  sword.  When  I  was  a  child  I  used  to 
dream  all  sorts  of  romantic  and  impossible  dreams 
about  it  and  about  my  little  uncle  Pierre."  She 
glanced  through  an  open  door,  across  an  interven- 
ing study  or  den,  at  the  outer  vestibule  which 
gave  upon  Pierre's  Terrace.  "  I  besought  St. 
Anthony  of  Padua  nightly,  with  tears,  to  let  me 
find  it,  or  if  he  would  not  grant  this  boon,  at 
least  to  restore  it  to  its  rightful  place  upon  the 
wall.  Daily  I  stole  into  the  library  to  see  if  a 
miracle  had  been  accomplished."  She  spoke  with 
an  animation  latterly  a  stranger  to  her  lips. 

"But  the  miracle  was  not  vouchsafed,"  he 
smiled ;  "  since  the  sword  is  still  in  hiding." 

She  nodded. 

"  The  sword  of  the  Quest !  The  Sword  of  Ma- 
dame de  Laussan's  mighty  oath." 

His  laugh  irritated  her.  "  The  sword  of  my 
own  oath,"  she  flashed  haughtily. 

"Do  you  really  consider  that  oath,  as  you  call 
it  —  I  call  it  a  joke  —  binding  ?  "  he  asked  curi- 


A  MORNING  CALL  181 

ously ;  "  would  you  really  marry  the  finder  of  this 
wonderful  heirloom,  whoever  he  might  be  ?  " 

"  Provided  he  found  it  within  the  Year  and  the 
Day,"  she  said  gravely.  "  After  that,  /  am  for 
naebody  and  naebody  is  for  me"  She  chanted 
the  line  with  a  slightly  defiant  air. 

"  Then,"  said  Cortland  lightly,  "  if  I  am  found 
prowling  about  the  house  at  unseasonable  hours, 
in  unreasonable  places,  please  remember  that  such 
latitude  is  allowed  by  Madame  de  Laussan  to  the 
seekers." 

"It  is  truly  time  the  Knights  were  in  har- 
ness," —  she  echoed  his  light  tone.  "  It  wants 
but  a  few  weeks  to  the  eighteenth  of  December. 
Ah,  the  sun  is  out  at  last !  " 

She  arose  and  walked  over  to  a  window  which 
overlooked  the  courtyard.  She  was  conscious  of 
a  vague  elation,  though  she  was  as  yet  hardly 
sensible  of  the  cause.  Cortland  saw  the  elation, 
and  instantly  divined  the  cause.  "  She  means  to 
use  that  absurd  vow  as  a  loophole  to  throw  me 
over !  "  he  thought. 

He  closed  the  secret  drawer ;  the  thin  click  of 
the  catch  echoed  about  the  silent  room. 


XIX 

GABBIELLE   VEEAO 

MONSIEUR  HENRI  SAINT-CYR,  the  dis- 
tinguished avocat,  glanced  at  the  visiting- 
card  brought  in  by  a  clerk,  and  read  the  short 
letter  of  introduction  which  accompanied  it.  A 
moment  later  he  advanced  -with  outstretched 
hands  to  meet  the  tall,  soldierly  young  man  who 
entered.  "  Welcome  to  Paris,  Monsieur  le  Capi- 
taine  Allard,"  he  said  with  warmth.  "  You  bring 
with  you  " — he  touched  the  letter  he  held  with 
a  thin  forefinger  —  "a  world  of  happy  memories. 
Leon  Grandchamps !  Grizzled,  doubtless,  like 
myself — in  your  eyes.  To  me  forever  young, 
reckless,  gay,  daring,  impossible !  Sit  down, 
captain.  Grandchamps !  Ah !  The  young  men  of 
the  present  day  are  not  like  those  of  our  time," 
—  he  shook  his  head  deprecatingly.  "Youth 
has  become  cautious,  prudent,  sober ! ' 

"  This  sounds  like  an  echo  of  1'oncle  Grand- 
champs,"  thought  Allard,  listening  with  amused 
interest,  "when  he  rhapsodizes  on  dans  le  temps." 


GABRIELLE  VERAC  183 

"And  the  women  !  They,  too,  are  become  pru- 
dent, calculating,  cautious.  Bah !  Besides,  there 
are  nowadays  no  beautiful  women  like  those 
of—  " 

"Dans  le  temps!"  murmured  Allard  invol- 
untarily. 

"Eh?  Laugh  away,  my  captain,  laugh  away  ! " 
cried  Monsieur  Saint-Cyr  good-humoredly.  "  But 
they  were  men  and  women  who  lived  in  my  day  — 
the  day  of  Leon  Grandchamps  and  myself  and — 
Pardon,  my  young  friend,  I  grow  garrulous.  You 
are  come,  I  see,"  he  glanced  again  at  the  note 
in  his  hand,  "on  a  matter  of  business."  The 
sudden  transition  from  the  gay,  reminiscent  tone 
of  the  moment  before  to  the  quick,  terse  voice, 
long  adjusted  to  the  key  of  affairs,  was  almost 
startling. 

"I  —  I  have  with  me  a  letter,  which  — " 
Allard  found  himself  stammering  confusedly. 

The  lawyer  settled  the  pince-nez  more  firmly 
on  his  large  nose,  drew  a  chair  to  his  desk,  swept 
aside  a  mass  of  papers  there,  and  spread  out 
the  yellowed,  faintly-rustling  sheets  handed  him 
by  his  client. 

The  letter,  addressed  to  Madame  Nemours  de 


184  THE   PRICE   OF  SILENCE 

Laussan,  was  dated,  "  Avril  14,  1861,  La  Nou- 
velle  Orleans."    It  ran  :  — 

LAURE, — When  this  note  reaches  your  hand, 
through  a  messenger  who  is  unacquainted  with  its 
contents,  but  who  has  promised  to  withhold  it  — 
and  the  child — for  twenty-four  hours,  I  will  be  al- 
ready beyond  recall.  Where  I  go  concerns  no  one 
but  myself.  Why  I  go  I  desire  you  alone  to  know 
—  you,  who  have  been  unfailingly  kind  to  me, 
though  I  think  you  have  not  liked  me ;  you,  to 
whom  I  leave  the  little  Mathilde. 

I  have  not  been  happy  in  this  wretched  little 
village,  to  which  Armand  brought  me  against  the 
wish  of  my  father  and  my  mother,  and  in  spite 
of  his  own  solemn  promise  and  my  frantic 
prayers.  But  I  would  have  stayed  if  —  why  do  I 
waste  words  when  I  have  only  to  tell  you  that  I 
have  learned  within  the  week  by  a  letter  from 
France  that  my  father  and  my  mother,  born, 
the  one  (Louis)  Jasmin,  the  other  ( Rosin e)  Rabut, 
are  gens  de  couleur,  as  you  say  here.  What  a 
crime,  my  God !  They  —  or  at  least  my  father 
was  well  known  in  Louisiana  before  he  went  to 
France.  He  was  free ;  my  mother  and  her  people 


GABRIELLE  VERAC  185 

were  his  slaves.  You  will  believe  me  when  I  tell 
you  that  I  did  not  know  of  this  stain  on  my 
birth — which  they  say  here  all  the  waters  of  the 
sea  cannot  wash  away  —  when  I  married  Armand. 
But  in  France  I  do  not  think  it  can  be  so  terrible ! 
I  have  been  long  enough  in  your  savage  America 
to  know  that  if  this  secret  were  known  it  would 
bring  bitter  disgrace  upon  Armand,  upon  his 
child,  and  upon  the  proud  family  whose  name  I 
bear.  My  going  is  the  price  of  silence  —  on  the 
part  of  my  own  mother !  I  leave  the  child,  and 
the  secret,  with  you ;  you  will  be  a  mother  to 
Mathilde,  and  this  blight  need  never  fall  upon 
her.  Armand  must  not  know.  I  charge  this 
upon  you.  Let  him  believe,  as  he  will  readily 
believe,  that  I  have  been  lured  back  to  Paris  — 
anywhere  —  by  those  gayeties  which  he  thinks  I 
pine  after,  and  which  have  no  part  in  this  dull 
corner  of  the  earth.  Adieu. 

GABRIELLE  VERAC  DE  LAUSSAN. 

"  Gabrielle  Verac  !"  Monsieur  Saint-Cyr  cov- 
ered his  eyes  with  his  hand.  "  Gabrielle  Verac  ! 
Mon  Dieu  !  "  he  repeated,  his  voice  shaken  with 
some  uncontrollable  emotion.  It  seemed  to  Allard 


186  THE  PEICE  OF  SILENCE 

to  express  at  once  longing  regret  and  half-scorn- 
ful unbelief. 

"Did  you  —  pardon,  Monsieur  Saint-Cyr,"  he 
inquired  hesitatingly,  "  did  you  also  know  this 
Gabrielle  Verac?" 

"If  I  knew  Gabrielle  Verac!"  The  avocat 
arose  from  his  chair  and  paced  back  and  forth 
the  length  of  the  quiet  bureau.  "  If  I  knew  Ga- 
brielle Verac  !  Does  not  even  a  blind  man  know 
the  sun  when  it  beats  upon  his  eyelids  !  Beauti- 
ful, capricious,  heartless,  fascinating  Gabrielle! 
Why,  my  friend,  Gabrielle  set  all  Paris  by  the 
ears  during  the  brief  year  that  she  shone  in  its 
sky.  She  was  a  maddening  draught  at  which  the 
hearts  of  all  men,  dans  le  temps,  as  you  say, 
sipped,  leaving  unsatisfied  thirst  on  the  lips  and 
in  the  throat.  Leon  Grandchamps,  by  God's 
grace," — he  laughed  shortly,  —  "  escaped,  maybe. 
I  hope  so.  But  the  others  of  what  we  were 
pleased  to  call  our  set  beat  our  heads  to  pulp 
against  the  wall  of  her  caprice,  —  Hilaire  Che- 
naux,  Armand  de  Laussan,  Marigny,  D'Aulnoy, 
oh,  all  of  us !  quarreled  among  ourselves ;  yes,  and 
fought  duels  into  the  bargain,  over  that  bewitch- 
ing piece  of  snow-fire !  Well,  Monsieur  Allard, 


GABRIELLE   VERAC  187 

and  what  have  you  to  do  with  the  Gabrielle  Verac 
who  trampled  upon  men's  souls  before  you  were 
bom?" 

Again  the  change  from  the  man  to  the  lawyer, 
though  this  time  the  listener  perceived  that  it 
was  not  made  without  an  effort. 

"It  will  take  time,  and,  I  foresee,  a  consider- 
able expenditure  —  " 

"  Spare  nothing,  I  beg  of  you  ! "  interrupted 
Allard,  "  neither  time  nor  expense.  The  matter 
—  pardon,  monsieur  —  is  one  of  life  and  death." 

"  All  matters  are."  The  lawyer  smiled  dryly, 
tapping  the  desk  with  a  gold  pencil.  "  We  will 
do  our  utmost,  Captain  Allard.  Come  back — 
let  me  see  —  in  one  month.  We  have  now,"  he 
consulted  a  calendar,  "  the  second  of  November. 
Drop  in,  say,  on  or  about  the  second  of  Decem- 
ber." 

The  second  of  December  !  It  seemed  an  eter- 
nity of  waiting.  Monsieur  Saint-Cyr  stood  up. 
The  interview  was  at  an  end. 

"  May  I  ask,"  ventured  Allard,  thoroughly 
chilled  by  the  business-like  attitude  of  the  great 
avocat, "  whether  Monsieur  Saint-Cyr  thinks  that 


188  THE   PRICE  OF  SILENCE 

this  —  this  story  of  —  mixed  blood  can  be 
true?" 

"It  is  not  unlikely,"  returned  the  lawyer 
gravely.  "  I  trust  you  are  not  too  much  person- 
ally interested  in  the  affair?  No  hint  of  such  an 
infusion  in  the  blood  of  the  Veracs  ever  leaked 
out  here  in  Paris.  But  that  proves  nothing, 
whereas —  However,  such  conjectures  lead  no- 
where. In  the  meantime,  my  dear  captain,  you 
must  see  Paris."  The  genial  smile  had  returned 
to  the  strong  face.  "  It  is  your  first  visit  ?  Ah ! 
Will  you  do  Madame  Saint-Cyr  and  myself  the 
honor  to  join  us  at  dinner  to-morrow  ?  Or  Sun- 
day?" 

"Thanks,  Monsieur  Saint-Cyr,"  Allard  said 
hastily,  "but  I  am  leaving  Paris  to-night  for — 
Switzerland  and  Italy."  The  journey  was  an  im- 
promptu decision;  the  interval  of  waiting  would 
be  unbearable  in  any  one  place ;  any  companion- 
ship would  be  maddening.  "  On  my  return,  I 
shall  be  most  happy." 

"  Gabrielle  Verac  ! "  muttered  the  lawyer,  when 
the  door  had  closed  on  his  young  client  and  he 
was  alone  in  his  book-lined  office  in  the  Rue  des 
Capucines.  He  unlocked  a  drawer  of  his  desk 


GABRIELLE  VERAC  189 

and  rummaged  among  its  contents ;  \vhen  he  had 
found  the  oval  case  he  sought,  he  opened  it,  and 
sat  long  gazing  upon  the  exquisite  face  which 
looked  out  at  him  from  the  background  of  the 
miniature.  The  smoke-like  eyes,  the  wonderful 
pale,  crinkled  hair,  the  low,  white  brow,  the  dainty 
chin,  —  these  Gabrielle  Verac  had  bequeathed  to 
her  half -American  granddaughter  whom  she  had 
never  seen.  But  the  mouth,  full,  alluring,  fickle, 
and  the  smile,  faintly  sensuous,  frankly  vain, 
remained  Gabrielle's  own. 

The  old  man  sighed,  and  a  half -cynical  chuckle 
preceded  the  dropping  of  the  miniature  back 
into  the  drawer. 


XX 

A  DISENTANGLED   SKEIN 

WHEN  Allard  was  ushered  into  the  pri- 
vate office  of  Monsieur  Saint-Cyr  on  the 
appointed  day,  he  found  a  stranger  there,  an 
elderly  personage,  spare,  dark,  and  somewhat 
severe  of  aspect.  "  Monsieur  le  Juge  D'Aulnoy, 
Capitaine  Maxime  Allard  of  the  United  States 
Army,"  pronounced  Monsieur  Saint-Cyr  formally. 
"Monsieur  D'Aulnoy,"  he  added  in  a  familiar 
tone,  motioning  his  visitors  to  seats  and  dropping 
into  his  own  chair,  "  is  one  of  the  comrades  of  my 
days  of  folly,  eh,  Jacques  ?  He  was,  like  myself 
—  and  others  !  —  interested  in  Mademoiselle 
Verac.  He  came  up  a  fortnight  ago  from  Lyons, 
where  he  lives,  to  lend  me  his  aid  in  the  matter 
which  has  brought  you,  Monsieur  Allard,  to 
France.  The  very  name  of  Gabrielle  Verac,"  he 
smiled  over  at  the  judge,  who  smiled,  but  gravely, 
in  return,  "remains,  after  a  lapse  of  forty-five 
years,  a  spell  to  conjure  with !  But  you  are  impa- 


CAPTAIN    MAXIME    ALLARU 


A  DISENTANGLED   SKEIN          191, 

tient,  my  young  friend.  At  your  age,  even  in 
these  colorless  times,  one  is  impatient.  I  will 
proceed  at  once. 

"  The  desired  information  "  —  he  seated  him- 
self comfortably  on  his  cushions  and  took  up  a 
packet  of  papers  —  "  has  been  less  difficult  to  pro- 
cure than  I  had  feared.  A  couple  of  cablegrams 
to  New  Orleans  gave  me  a  fair  start.  From  the 
replies,  in  cipher  of  course," — he  detached  two 
slips  from  the  packet  and  laid  them  on  one  side,  — 
"  I  learned  that  Louis  Jasmin,/ree  man  of  color  " 
—  Allard  winced  —  "Louis  Jasmin,  in  company 
with  Hyppolite  Rabut,  his  wife  Therese,  and  Ro- 
sine,  their  daughter,  sailed  for  Havre,  France,  on 
the  15th  of  June,  1837,  on  board  the  ship  Jupiter. 
A  letter  which  followed  the  cablegrams "  —  he 
placed  it  with  the  telegraph  slips  —  "  stated  that 
Jasmin  had  inherited  from  his  father,  likewise  a 
free  man  of  color,  a  handsome  plantation  in  the 

Parish   of and   a  considerable    number  of 

negro  slaves.  In  the  winter  of  1837  he  sold  the 
plantation  and  the  negroes,  with  the  exception  of 
a  few,  among  whom  were  the  famille  Rabut,  whom 
he  manumitted;  and,  having  turned  all  his  pos- 
sessions into  money,  he  left  Louisiana,  accompa- 


192  THE  PRICE   OF  SILENCE 

nied,  as  I  have  said,  by  Rabut,  his  wife,  and 
his  sixteen-year-old  daughter.  Before  this  letter 
arrived  my  confidential  clerk  had  examined,  in 
the  Bureau  of  Marine  Affairs  at  Havre,  the 
list  of  passengers  brought  over  by  the  Jupiter 
on  her  voyage,  ending  September  27,  1837 ; 
upon  this  list  appear  the  names  mentioned.  Fur- 
ther research  revealed  that  soon  after  their  arrival 
at  Havre  Louis  Jasmin  and  Rosine  Rabut  were 
united  in  marriage. 

"  In  1840  Louis  Jasmin  made  his  appearance 
at  Clamart  as  Louis  Verac.  Here  he  purchased 
a  small  chateau,  and  shortly  thereafter  installed 
himself  with  Madame  Verac  and  their  little 
daughter,  Gabrielle,  then  about  two  years  old." 

Allard,  who  had  been  leaning  forward,  listening 
eagerly,  grew  deadly  pale,  shrinking  as  if  from  a 
blow. 

"  And  here  Louis  Verac  lived  until  the  day 
of  his  death,  a  charitable,  honorable,  and  much 
respected  citizen.  No  suspicion  of  the  mixed 
blood  of  the  Veracs  seems  ever  to  have  entered 
the  heads  of  their  neighbors.  But,  I  hasten," 
Monsieur  Saint-Cyr  proceeded  with  great  deliber- 
ation, "  to  take  up  the  thread  of  Gabrielle's  story, 


A  DISENTANGLED   SKEIN          198 

—  that  Gabrielle  afterward  known,  like  another 
enchantress  of  the  same  name,  as  la  belle  Gabrielle. 

"  The  three  years  succeeding  the  marriage  of 
Louis  Jasmin  and  Rosine  Rabut  were  spent  quietly 
by  Monsieur  and  Madame  Louis  Verac  at  B.,  a 
small  village  in  Brittany.  While  here  the  couple 
adopted — on  the  death  of  her  widowed  mother — 
the  infant  daughter  of  Georges  Dupont  and 
Antoinette  Morel,  his  wife,  —  both,  though  poor 
and  without  immediate  ties,  belonging  to  the 
petite  noblesse" 

Allard  was  staring  at  the  speaker  with  dazed 
and,  as  yet,  uncomprehending  eyes. 

"  Many  of  the  older  men  and  women  of  the 
village  remembered  the  Veracs  —  les  Bresiliens, 
tres  riches  —  very  well,  and  testified  to  their 
kindness  to  Madame  Dupont  as  well  as  to  the 
adoption  of  her  infant.  We  took  this  part  of 
the  inquiry  upon  ourselves — Monsieur  D'Aulnoy 
and  myself  —  for  the  sake  of  Life's  Morning,"  — 
was  there  a  break  in  the  dry  voice  ?  "  The 
present  cure  of  B.,  at  that  time  an  acolyte, 
himself  assisted  at  the  baptism  of  Marie  Louise 
Gabrielle  Dupont.  From  the  parish  register  —  " 

"  Do  you  mean,"  gasped  Allard,  springing  to 


194  THE   PRICE  OF  SILENCE 

his  feet  and  regarding  the  speaker  with  out- 
starting  eyes,  "that  Madame  Armand  de  Laus- 
san  —  " 

"  Exactly,  monsieur  le  capitaine.  Not  a  drop  ! 
Her  blood  is  as  pure  as  your  own." 

Allard  dropped,  trembling,  to  his  seat,  and 
covered  his  face  with  his  hands.  The  revulsion 
was  almost  more  than  he  could  bear. 

"  From  the  register,"  Monsieur  Saint-Cyr  was 
repeating,  "  we  copied  I'Acte  de  Naissance  and 
de  Bapteme  of  the  daughter  of  the  Duponts. 
Through  the  courtesy  of  monsieur  le  maire  of  the 
village  we  obtained  from  the  judicial  records  a 
copy  of  the  certificate  of  adoption  by  Monsieur  and 
Madame  Louis  Verac  of  Marie  Louise  Gabrielle, 
daughter  of  Georges  and  Antoinette  Dupont." 
He  laid  these  documents  on  the  growing  pile  of 
papers  before  him. 

"The  child,  adored  by  her  adoptive  parents, 
whom  she  believed  always  to  be  hers  by  right 
of  birth,  grew  up  to  womanhood,  educated  and 
accomplished,  in  the  small  but  well-appointed 
chateau  at  Clamart.  In  1858  she  came  to  Paris 
with  the  Countess  de  G.,  whose  country  estate 
joined  that  of  the  Veracs  at  Clamart,  and  was  by 


A  DISENTANGLED   SKEIN  195 

that  elegant  woman  of  the  world  presented  into 
the  haute  societe  of  the  capital.  She  became  at 
once  the  rage.  The  small  coterie  of  whom  I  think 
I  have  already  spoken  to  you,  Monsieur  Allard, 
—  Armand  de  Laussan,  de  Marigny,  and  Grand- 
champs  of  Louisiana ;  D'Aulnoy,  eh,  Jacques  ? 
Chenaux,  de  Marsac,  and  myself,  in  particular, 
went  mad  about  her,  each  in  his  own  way.  Allard, 
my  friend,  you  doubtless  imagine  that  you  have 
yourself  seen  beautiful  women  —  or  a  beautiful 
woman,  since  there  can  be  but  one  to  every  man's 
lifetime  !  Doubtless  you  have  dreamed  of  houris, 
exquisite,  alluring,  as  dangerous  as  fire  in  the 
blood?  But  whatever  your  imaginings,  or  your 
dreams,  they  are  of  a  poverty — pouff!"  —  he 
blew  away  an  invisible  atom.  "  You  die,  I  tell 
you,  with  eyes  unblessed.  You  never  saw  Gabrielle 
Verac!"  " 

"  I  have  seen  Noe'mie  Carrington,  her  grand- 
daughter." The  words  burst  unbidden  from 
Allard's  lips.  He  drew  back,  crimsoning  to  the 
roots  of  his  hair. 

The  two  older  men  exchanged  covert  glances. 
Monsieur  Saint-Cyr  made  as  though  he  had  not 
heard.  He  was  a  wise  man,  the  great  avocat. 


196  THE  PRICE   OF  SILENCE 

"  Mademoiselle  Verac,"  he  went  on,  "  had 
many  suitors.  For  a  time  de  Marsac,  handsome, 
rich,  forceful,  easily  distanced  them  all ;  the  in- 
fatuation seemed  to  be  mutual.  I  still  think — 
well,  suddenly  the  engagement  was  announced  of 
la  belle  Gabrielle  to  Armand  de  Laussan.  Mon- 
sieur Verac  gave  what  then  seemed  a  strangely 
reluctant  consent  to  the  marriage,  with  the  pro- 
viso that  the  young  couple  should  reside  in 
France.  De  Laussan  certainly  intended  to  keep 
to  the  promise  thus  exacted.  But  the  gathering 
clouds  at  home,  which  were  a  prelude  to  your 
great  Civil  War,  drew  him  irresistibly  to  the 
country  of  his  birth.  Soon  after  the  birth  of 
their  child,  a  girl,  I  believe,  early  in  1860,  if 
I  remember  aright,  he  returned  with  his  fam- 
ily to  Louisiana.  Then  came  for  his  friends  here 
a  gap,  unbridged  save  by  an  occasional  letter  to 
myself  or  another  from  Grandchamps  or  Marigny 
—  none  from  de  Laussan.  These  letters  were 
concerned  mostly  with  the  preparations  for  ap- 
proaching war. 

"Suddenly  there  fell  upon  us  news  of  the 
strange,  inexplicable  disappearance  from  her  home 
in  New  Orleans  of  Madame  Armand  de  Laussan. 


A  DISENTANGLED  SKEIN          197 

It  was,  we  heard  at  the  time,  a  nine-days'  wonder 
in  New  Orleans ;  but  it  was  silenced  by  the 
growing  horror  of  that  strife  which  for  a  time 
rent  your  country  asunder.  I  had  myself  one 
letter  from  Armand ;  it  was  written  on  the  eve 
of  the  first  great  battle  of  that  war.  It  is  here. 
He  makes  no  mention  of  the  shadow  which  had 
darkened  his  hearthstone  other  than  by  say- 
ing :  '  I  pray  for  a  swift  and  merciful  bullet  to 
my  brain.  I  have  now  neither  motive  nor  desire 
for  life.  My  daughter  is  in  safe  keeping.' 
Pauvre  diable  !  Long  before  this  letter  reached 
me  his  prayer  had  been  granted. 

"  The  letter  placed  in  my  hands  by  you,  Cap- 
tain Allard,  furnishes,  so  far  as  I  am  aware,  the 
first  clue  ever  had  to  the  apparently  causeless 
desertion  of  her  husband  by  Madame  Armand  de 
Laussan.  Unless  she  herself  made  more  explicit 
explanations  to  his  family,  —  and  it  would  ap- 
pear that  she  did  not,  —  we  must  read  the  story 
between  the  lines  of  this  note.  Pleasure-loving, 
spoiled,  capricious,  unused  withal  to  discipline,  la 
belle  Gabrielle  pined  perhaps  in  her  new  home  for 
Paris — her  bright  Paris!  —  and  adulation.  Who 
can  blame  her,  poor  child  !  The  astounding  reve- 


198          THE  PRICE  OF  SILENCE 

lation  made  her  by  Madame  Verac, — it  is  vain  at 
this  distance  of  time  to  surmise  why  she  made  it ; 
possibly  in  a  fit  of  jealous  longing  for  the  daugh- 
ter of  her  love ;  possibly  from  terror  lest  her 
own  and  her  husband's  past  should  rise  up,  yon- 
der, and  destroy,  without  warning,  that  daugh- 
ter's future,  —  these  taken  together  were  enough 
to  drive  a  woman  like  Gabrielle  Verac  to  flight. 
The  child  ?  I  have  never  been  able  to  imagine  la 
belle  Gabrielle  as  a  mother."  Monsieur  Saint- 
Cyr's  voice  was  tinged  with  a  certain  irritation. 
"  For  another  woman  to  leave  her  child  —  her 
daughter  ! — exposed  to  the  same  danger  which 
menaced  herself,  would  certainly  be  incredible. 
For  Gabrielle  Verac  —  "  he  shrugged  his  shoul- 
ders. "  But  what  follows  is  more  inexplicable  still. 
Madame  Armand  de  Laussan  came  direct  to  Paris 
from  Havre,  after  her  voyage  from  America,  and 
proceeded,  after  less  than  half  a  day  in  Paris,  and 
without  turning  aside  to  visit  her  parents  at  Cla- 
mart,  to  Montpellier,  where  she  was  immediately 
received  as  a  novice  in  the  Convent  of  the  Ursu- 
lines.  Two  years  later  she  took  the  final  vows. 
Why  ?  Why  ?  I  have  asked  myself  the  question 
a  thousand  times." 


A  DISENTANGLED   SKEIN          199 

"  De  Marsac,"  said  D'Aulnoy  sombrely,  break- 
ing silence  for  the  first  time,  "  fell  in  a  duel  with 
Justin  Belcourt,  two  days  before  Madame  de 
Laussan  reached  Paris." 

"  Ah !  "  Complete  silence  reigned  for  a  mo- 
ment in  the  bureau.  "Her  reputed  parents," 
resumed  the  lawyer,  "  visited  Madame  de  Laussan 
from  time  to  time  at  the  convent  near  Montpellier; 
and  on  the  death  of  Verac,  which  followed  that 
of  his  wife,  in  1864,  she  came  into  possession  of 
his  estate.  This  is  the  story,  monsieur,  or  as 
much  of  it  as,  perhaps,  will  ever  be  known." 

Allard  took  the  papers  handed  him  by  the 
lawyer,  with  hands  that  trembled  with  the  irreg- 
ular bounding  of  his  pulse.  The  tense  strain 
under  which  he  had  lived  since  his  chance  meet- 
ing with  Cortland,  six  weeks  before,  had  kept 
him  keyed  to  abnormal  exaltation ;  the  reaction 
left  him  limp  and  exhausted.  He  grasped  the 
hands  extended  to  him,  in  an  ecstasy  of  wordless 
gratitude.  Noemie  !  Noemie  !  he  hardly  refrained 
from  shouting  the  name  aloud.  His  was  a  joy 
like  that  of  some  sexless  messenger  from  heaven, 
no  thought  of  himself  thrusting  a  moted  ray 
into  the  pure  light  that  flooded  his  soul. 


200  THE  PRICE  OF  SILENCE 

"  Yet  a  moment,  my  friend,"  said  Monsieur 
Saint-Cyr,  for  Allard  had  seized  his  hat  and  was 
already  at  the  door  in  his  eagerness  to  be  gone; 
"la  belle  Gabrielle  —  " 

Allard  started;  he  had  already  forgotten  la 
belle  Gabrielle ! 

" —  is  still  living,  as  you  have  doubtless 
guessed  ;  religieuse  in  the  Convent  of  the  Ursu- 
lines  at  Montpellier.  Her  name  in  religion  is  Sis- 
ter Mary  of  the  Angels." 

"  Ah ! "  breathed  Monsieur  D' Aulnoy. 

"You  are  right,  Jacques,"  smiled  Monsieur 
Saint-Cyr,  answering  his  friend's  unspoken 
thought;  "it  should  be  Venus  of  the  Butterflies. 
God  forgive  me,"  he  added  gravely ;  "  for,  as  a 
butterfly  from  a  chrysalis-grub,  so,  perhaps,  an 
angel  from  a  butterfly  !  If  you  desire  to  see  her, 
Captain  Allard  —  " 

"  I  do  desire  it,"  returned  Allard. 

"  Then,  since  it  has  been  because  of  you  that 
the  story  of  her  birth  has  been  brought  to  light, 
you  may  not  be  unwilling  to  charge  yourself  with 
the  pleasant  duty  of  assuring  Madame  Armand  de 
Laussan  veuve  that  her  blood  is  as  free  of  taint 
as  that  of  the  proudest  de  Laussan  in  Louisiana." 


A  DISENTANGLED  SKEIN          201 

The  old  man's  lip  curled  cynically  as  he  added, 
"  I  find  myself,  if  you  will  pardon  me  for  saying 
so,  a  little  apart  from  your  extreme  point  of  view 
in  this  matter." 

Allard  had  recoiled  at  the  first  words  with 
a  half -uttered  protest;  but  Monsieur  Saint-Cyr 
continued  imperturbably :  (( Here  is  a  note  pre- 
senting you  to  the  Mother  Superior  of  the  Con- 
vent at  Montpellier.  Her  permission  and  that  of 
the  Archbishop  of  the  Diocese,  both  of  whom 
chance  to  be  old  friends  of  my  family,  for  a 
private  interview  with  the  nun  known  as  Sceur 
Marie  des  Anges,  have  already  been  obtained." 


XXI 

SISTER   MARY    OF   THE    ANGELS 

mWENTY-FOUR  hours  later  Allard  found 
-*-  himself  awaiting  with  self-confessed  trepida- 
tion the  advent  of  the  woman  long  buried,  yet  pos- 
sessing in  her  grave,  as  it  were,  power  to  stir  the 
pulses  of  the  men  about  whom  she  had  cast  her 
spell  nearly  half  a  century  earlier.  He  had  been 
ushered  through  the  tall,  barred  gateway,  along 
a  tree-shaded  walk,  and  into  the  sunny  but  aus- 
tere-looking reception  room,  by  a  silent  portress. 
Madame  Mere  had  received  him  with  an  aloof 
graciousness,  her  kindly  but  distant  smile  resem- 
bled a  winter  sunbeam  gleaming  through  a  wall 
of  ice.  Nothing  in  her  manner,  or  in  the  appear- 
ance of  the  age-worn  building  within  its  guarded 
walls,  hinted  at  the  storm  at  that  moment  threat- 
ening the  religious  orders  in  France,  which  was 
shortly  to  sweep  them  out  of  their  ancient  groove 
of  existence. 

Left  alone,  Allard  was  beginning  to  feel  the 
unwonted  silence  about  him  oppressive.  He  arose 


SISTEK  MARY  OF  THE  ANGELS    203 

from  his  chair  and  walked  aimlessly  about,  half 
ashamed  of  an  almost  overpowering  longing  to 
escape. 

"  Monsieur  desires  to  speak  —  with  me  ?  " 

The  voice,  though  rich  and  deep,  was  curiously 
monotonous.  Allard  turned  quickly ;  the  mere 
presence  of  the  veiled  and  shrouded  figure  stand- 
ing just  within  the  doorway  struck  chill  to  his 
already  benumbed  veins. 

"  Upon  a  family  matter,  madame,"  he  stam- 
mered, conscious  that  his  words  were  awkward 
and  commonplace. 

"  Monsieur  is  mistaken.  I  have  no  family. 
And  no  interest  beyond  these  convent  walls." 
She  was  already  turning  to  go. 

"Nevertheless,  I  beg  Madame  Armand  de 
Laussan  to  accord  me  a  moment's  attention." 

"  Monsieur  is  again  in  error.  I  am  not  Madame 
Armand  de  Laussan." 

There  was  neither  sadness  nor  curiosity  in  the 
dispassionate  tones.  Allard  shivered  slightly,  but 
hurried  on  as  if  she  had  not  interrupted. 

"  And  if  the  papers  which  I  hold  in  my 
hand  are  not  of  interest  to  Madame  Armand  de 
Laussan,  or  to  Gabrielle  Verac  —  " 


204  THE  PKICE  OF  SILENCE 

"  Gabrielle  Verac  ! "  There  was  sudden  but 
momentary  sharpness  in  the  echo.  "  Gabrielle 
Verac,  monsieur," — the  dry  tone  had  returned, 
—  "like  Madame  Armand  de  Laussan,  is  long 
dead." 

"  —  she  will  perhaps  concede  that  they  may 
be  of  importance  to  her  descendants,"  finished 
Allard  boldly.  "  And  particularly  to  the  daugh- 
ter of  Mathilde  de  Laussan,"  he  added,  with  a 
sudden  break  in  his  voice. 

"Ah!  She  left  a  child,  then,  Mathilde ?  To 
inherit  the  taint,"  the  low  murmur  barely  reached 
the  strained  ears  of  her  listener.  "  Poor  creature ! " 

Allard  felt  as  if  he  were  beating  against  a  dead 
wall,  or  battling  with  impalpable  shadows.  Her 
cold  indifference  stung  him  to  passion. 

"  Madame,  I  entreat  you.  There  is  no  taint. 
There  never  was  !  See  for  yourself."  He  thrust 
the  papers  almost  roughly  into  the  hand  out- 
stretched to  repel  him, — the  certificates  of  birth 
and  baptism  of  Marie  Louise  Gabrielle,  daughter 
of  Georges  and  Antoinette  Dupont,  and  the 
record  of  the  adoption  of  the  said  Marie  Louise 
Gabrielle  by  Louis  and  Rosine  Verac. 

The  pale  fingers  closed  on  them  mechanically. 


SISTER  MARY  OF  THE  ANGELS     205 

The  nun  walked  swiftly  and  noiselessly  to  the 
window,  swept  her  veil  aside,  and  unfolded  the 
papers  one  after  another.  At  last  Allard  caught 
a  glimpse  of  the  features  which  lived  so  vividly 
in  the  memory  of  the  great  lawyer  of  the  Rue  des 
Capucines.  They  were  pale  as  marble,  even 
the  lips  once  so  alluringly  red.  But  time  had 
not  touched  the  fine,  straight  eyebrows,  the  curl- 
ing, silken  lashes  which  swept  the  sunken  cheeks, 
nor  the  cloud-dark  eyes,  violet-shaded,  luminous 
in  their  deep  sockets.  These  rested  upon  him 
enigmatically,  as  Sister  Mary  of  the  Angels  moved 
again  across  the  room  and  stood  before  him,  un- 
veiled still,  strangely,  mysteriously,  indefinably 
beautiful,  —  far  more  beautiful,  even  now,  than 
Noemie;  and  yet — and  yet  — 

She  was  speaking  :  — 

"  I  thank  you,  Monsieur  Allard,  for  your  good 
intention,"  the  monotony  was  gone  from  the  full 
voice ;  there  rang  in  its  stead  something  vaguely 
antagonistic.  "  I  should,  I  suppose,  be  filled  with 
rapture  by  the  discovery  that  I  am  not  that  thing 
to  be  abhorred,  a  femme  de  couleur.  But  I 
leave  rapture  —  and  gratitude  —  to  the  illustrious 
famille  de  Laussan,"  the  ashen  lips  were  crisped 


206  THE   PRICE  OF  SILENCE 

by  a  disdainful  smile.  "  For  myself,  monsieur, 
these,"  —  she  dropped  the  precious  records  one 
by  one  upon  the  small  table  by  which  she  stood, 
—  "these  ravish  from  me,  see  you  !  my  father  and 
my  mother,  and  give  me  in  return  merely  a  cold, 
unvalued  fact,  namely,  that  my  blood  is,  as  they 
say  in  Louisiana,  *  pure ; '  and  that  the  de  Laus- 
sans  have  not  poisoned  theirs  by  mixing  it  with 
that  of  Gabrielle  Verac.  I  loved  my  father,  Louis 
Verac,  quadroon,  mulatto,  if  you  will.  For  he 
was  my  father  by  everything  that  makes  for 
fatherhood, — love,  tenderness,  care,  protection, 
the  most  loyal  heart  and  the  noblest  gentleman 
I  have  ever  known  —  save  one.  And  he,  ah, 
what  did  he  care  whether  there  were  taint  in 
my  blood  or  no  ?  He  loved  me ! "  The  rich 
voice  vibrated  with  exultation,  and  the  stiff  figure 
swayed,  graceful  as  a  wind-blown  lily,  under  the 
sweep  of  feeling.  "  But  he  was  dead  when  I 
came  back  —  to  him,  to  him,  you  understand? 
Killed  defending  my  name  from  dishonor.  .  .  . 
And  now,  you  are  come  to  tell  me  that  they  have 
taken  away  from  me  my  father  and  my  mother ! 
I  cast  their  miserable  ' proofs'  back  into  their 
teeth !  Why  ?  "  —  she  whirled  suddenly  upon 


SISTER  MARY  OF  THE  ANGELS     207 

Allard,  — "  why  have  you  come  so  far  to  do  a 
thing  so  cruel?  By  what  right  have  you — " 

"  Noemie,"  faltered  Allard,  scarcely  aware  of 
what  he  said,  but  moved  by  a  mighty  desire  to 
clear  himself  from  some  unjust  accusation ;  "  it  is 
for  Noemie." 

"  Noemie  ?  Ah,  my  —  my  granddaughter  ! 
Yes  ?  You  love  her,  this  Noemie  ?  "  A  wave  of  color 
swept  over  her  pale  face,  brightening  it  into  still 
rarer  loveliness.  "  You  love  her !  But  no,  you  do 
not  love  her,"  she  continued  contemptuously;  "if 
you  loved  her,  what  would  it  have  mattered  to 
you,  this  stigma,  this  pollution,  which  is  supposed 
to  have  come  down  to  her  from  Louis  Verac  ! " 

"  I  love  her,"  affirmed  Allard,  "  so  well  that  I 
have  already  stated  to  her  guardian,  Major  Leon 
Grandchamps  — " 

"  Leon,  Leon  Grandchamps !  "  breathed  the 
nun  dreamily. 

" — my  desire  to  marry  Mademoiselle  Noemie 
de  Laussan  Carrington,  though  she  should  prove  to 
be  in  truth  the  lineal  descendant  of  Louis  Verac." 

She  drew  nearer ;  her  eyes  brooded  strangely 
upon  him.  "Noemie!  my — my  granddaughter ! 
She  loves  you,  then  ! " 


208  THE  PRICE  OF  SILENCE 

"  Alas,  no,  madame." 

He  could  never  remember  afterwards  just  what 
words  lie  used  in  telling  ;  they  poured  from  his 
lips  unbidden,  unchosen.  He  only  knew  that 
he  had  related  the  story  in  all  its  details ;  begin- 
ning with  the  domiciliary  visit  of  Butler's  Provost 
Guard  to  the  hotel  de  Laussan,  under  command 
of  a  Captain  Cortland;  the  last  interview  of 
the  lad,  Pierre  de  Laussan,  with  his  mother,  with 
the  little  Mathilde  lying  like  a  white  flower  upon 
the  sombre  cushions  of  the  couch ;  the  theft 
of  the  box,  with  the  letter  written  by  Madame 
Armand  de  Laussan  to  her  sister-in-law ;  the 
intervening  years  which  had  witnessed  the 
marriage  of  Richard  Carrington  to  Mathilde  de 
Laussan,  and  the  death  of  both ;  the  childhood  of 
Noemie,  their  daughter,  under  the  fostering  care 
of  Madame  Nemours  de  Laussan ;  her  beautiful 
and  glowing  young  womanhood ;  the  appearance 
of  Cortland  fils,  with  all  its  disgraceful  and 
disastrous  consequences ;  —  he  not  only  told  all 
these  things,  but  when  he  had  concluded  his 
whole  soul  lay  bare  before  this  woman  whom, 
until  now,  he  had  never  seen  !  To  the  day  of  his 
death,  the  memory  of  it  —  and  of  her  —  will  thrill 


SISTER  MARY  OF  THE  ANGELS    209 

Maxime  Allard,  as  the  name  of  la  belle  Gabrielle 
continues  to  thrill  the  grizzled  graybeards  who 
once,  in  their  far-away  youth,  loved  her. 

"  You  will  say  to  Laure  de  Laussan  that  Mary 
the  Nun  thanks  her  for  the  faithful  fulfillment  of 
a  trust  laid  upon  her  —  with  little  thought  —  by 
Gabrielle  Verac.  And  you  will  tell  Noemie  — 
Noemie  !  —  that  the — the  grandmother  whom 
she  will  never  behold  sends  a  blessing  upon  her 
union  with  Maxime  Allard." 

"  Madame ! " 

"  She  loves  you,"  said  la  Sceur  Marie  des 
Anges,  with  quick  imperiousness ;  "  have  I  been 
la  belle  Gabrielle  for  nothing  ?  " 

"And  —  has  madame  no  message  for  Henri 
Saint-Cyr,  and  —  " 

What  she  might  have  said  he  could  never 
conjecture ;  there  was  the  faintest  rustle  of  gar- 
ments through  the  corridor  without;  the  tall 
form,  which  for  an  instant  had  recovered  the 
supple  and  magnetic  grace  of  la  belle  Gabrielle, 
stiffened,  like  a  corpse  that  had  been  galvanized, 
into  the  rigid  contours  of  Sister  Mary  of  the 
Angels. 


210  THE  PRICE  OF  SILENCE 

"Merci,  monsieur.  Adieu"  she  said  formally, 
as  the  portress  entered.  Her  voice  had  the 
whispering  sound  of  a  dry  leaf  blown  upon  the 
wind. 


XXII 

THE    SWORD 

ONE  morning — it  chanced  to  be  upon  the 
same  day  that  Captain  Allard  heard  in  the 
quiet  office  in  the  Rue  des  Capucines  the  story 
of  Gabrielle  Verac  —  there  was  enacted  at  the 
old  de  Laussan  mansion  in  New  Orleans  a  scene 
at  once  surprising  and  dramatic. 

A  hazy  sunshine,  mellow  and  soft,  flooded  the 
courtyard.  Cortland,  walking  back  and  forth 
along  the  trellised  rose-way  with  Noemie  Carring- 
ton,  had  stopped  to  read  the  shadow  on  the  sun- 
dial which  stood  in  its  own  triangle  of  grassy 
sward  near  the  entrance  to  the  inner,  smaller 
court.  The  batten-gate  set  in  the  brick  divid- 
ing-wall stood  open.  The  young  man,  glancing 
through,  uttered  an  exclamation  of  pleased  sur- 
prise. Uncle  Mink,  kneeling  near,  trowel  in  hand, 
looked  up  from  the  violet-border,  and  growled 
under  his  breath  like  an  aroused  watchdog.  He 
got  up  to  lay  a  withered  hand  upon  the  arm 


212  THE  PRICE  OF  SILENCE 

of  his  young  mistress,  who  had  paused  in  pass- 
ing. 

"  Step  mo'  keerful,  honey,"  he  half  whispered; 
"  rattlesnakes  is  crawlin'  in  de  grass." 

"  Why,  Uncle  Mink  !  "  she  laughed,  "  you  old 
rascal !  you  know  there  is  n't  a  rattler  this  side  of 
Bayou  St.  Jean.  What  do  you  mean?"  She  patted 
his  hand  affectionately. 

"  Neb  mine,  Miss  No-wee.  Dess  you  do  lak  yo' 
Unk'  Mink  tell  you.  Step  lak  you  was  steppin' 
on  aiggs.  I  see  thripple  this  minute !  " 

"Miss  Carrington,"  —  Cortland  had  turned 
and  was  walking  toward  her,  —  "  I  realize  for  the 
first  time  the  blue  cascade  whose  praises  you  have 
been  singing ! "  He  indicated  with  a  sweep  of  his 
hand  the  luxuriant  growth  of  blossoming  plum- 
bago which  outlined  Pierre's  Terrace.  "I  have 
never  seen  it  before  from  below.  It  is  wonder- 
ful." 

"  Is  it  not ! "  assented  Noemie,  her  listless  eyes 
brightening.  "  I  am  very  jealous  for  the  fame 
of  that  blue  girdle.  They  tell  me  that  beside  the 
Queen's  Walk  in  the  Alhambra  there  is  a  down- 
ward sweeping  fall  of  plumbago  five  times  as 
royal  as  mine.  But  of  course  I  do  not  believe  it. 


THE   SWORD  213 

You  have  never  seen   this  gate  open  before? 
How  odd !   Yes,  let  us  go  over." 

She  followed  him  across  the  flagged  and  walled 
square,  in  one  corner  of  which  stood  the  detached 
building  used  as  a  coach-house  and  stable.  They 
seated  themselves  upon  the  stone  bench  within 
the  loggia,  as  on  a  former  occasion.  How  long 
ago  it  seemed  to  the  girl,  resting  her  head  against 
the  stuccoed  wall  of  the  house,  and  closing  her 
eyes ;  how  remote  !  A  brown  and  gold  glory  of 
nasturtiums  filled,  as  on  that  morning,  the  tall 
stone  urns ;  clouds  of  yellow  butterflies  hovered 
over  them ;  their  faint  odor  mingled  with  the 
heavy  perfume  of  Grand  Duke  jessamine  abloom 
beside  them.  A  fringe  of  withering  sweet-alys- 
sum  bordered  the  inner  edge  of  the  brick  flower- 
box,  the  sarcophagus  where  the  plumbago  bur- 
rowed deep  its  sturdy  roots.  A  single  bee  droned 
patiently  in  and  out,  seeking  if  he  might  find  some- 
where a  lingering  drop  of  sweet.  The  stillness  as 
of  a  spot  far  removed  from  everyday  sounds  was 
broken  only  by  Uncle  Mink's  voice,  low,  rich,  unc- 
tuous, rising  and  falling  in  a  dolorous  spiritual, 
which  was  interrupted  by  occasional  admonitions 
to  Old  Babe,  both  unseen  beyond  the  wall. 


214  THE  PRICE  OF  SILENCE 

"I  walks  in  de  dew  an'  de  dew  is  sweet ; 
Gwine  to  walk  to  glory, 

Glory  ! 
1  looks  at  my  han's  an'  I  looks  at  my  feet, 

(Pick  up  dem  heels  o'  yo'n,  Ole  Babe,  er  I 
gwine  to  lamm  you  good!) 

Glory  I 
Walkin1  in  glory, 

(Why n't  you  wrop  yo*  ha'r,  Ole  Babe?  You 
good-f er-nothin'  nigger !  You  ain'  fitten  fer  a 
toad-frog  to  tromp  on !) 

Glory!" 

How  long  ago  that  moonlighted  night !  And 
what  a  senseless  fool  she  had  been  not  to  know  — 
this,  this.  She  shivered,  for  Cortland's  sleeve  had 
accidentally  brushed  her  own,  and  drew  away, 
ever  so  slightly.  The  wave  of  physical  loathing, 
to  which  she  was  becoming  used,  swept  over  her 
from  head  to  foot ;  she  had  almost  cried  out. 

"  I  will  tell  him  now,  this  instant,"  she  said  reso- 
lutely to  herself ;  "  no  matter  what  may  happen. 
My  grandmother  — pauvre  mere  !  She  does  not, 
cannot,  understand.  I  can  endure  it  no  longer. 
Oh,  if  Maxime  —  " 


THE  SWORD  215 

At  the  unspoken  name  the  red  surged  into 
the  throat,  which  had  become  almost  too  thin 
for  beauty,  the  silken  eyelashes  trembled  against 
the  marble  cheek ;  the  palpitation  of  her  heart 
made  speech  impossible.  "In  —  in — a  moment," 
she  panted  within  herself,  "I  —  will  tell  him." 

He  had  been  regarding  her ;  an  expression  of 
uncertainty  crossed  his  face  from  moment  to 
moment,  succeeded  immediately  by  one  of  exulta- 
tion. Finally,  as  if  his  thought  had  found  and 
met  hers  face  to  face,  his  square  jaws  tightened 
into  hardness;  he  dropped  his  elbows  on  his 
knees  and  leaned  forward,  idly  prodding  the 
earth  in  the  brick  box  with  the  slender  cane  in 
his  hands. 

"  Mr.  Cortland — "  Noemie's  manner  was  grave 
and  untremulous. 

"  By  Jove !  "  Cortland  had  leaped  to  his  feet ; 
he  stood  staring  down  at  the  flower-box  with 
dilated  eyes.  "  Noemie  !  Miss  Carrington  !  "  he 
said  excitedly,  "  you  will  laugh  at  me,  I  suppose, 
but  —  but  a  curious  thought  has  just  come  to 
me  —  like  a  flash.  May  I  —  tell  me,  has  any 
one  ever  —  ?  Stay,  will  you  excuse  me  for  a 
moment  ?  " 


216  THE  PRICE  OF  SILENCE 

He  ran  hurriedly  down  the  terrace-steps,  and 
disappeared  into  the  outer  court.  Noemie  had 
arisen,  and  remained,  bewildered,  where  he  left 
her.  Presently  he  reappeared,  bounding  like  an 
eager  schoolboy  across  the  intervening  space, 
and  upon  the  terrace.  He  carried  Uncle  Mink's 
garden  spade  in  his  hand ;  Uncle  Mink  himself 
limped  at  his  heels,  disgust  written  all  over 
his  black  face.  Old  Babe,  egg-eyed,  giggling, 
brought  up  the  rear  of  the  impromptu  procession. 

"  You  will  let  me  try,  will  you  not  ?  Pardon ! " 
Cortland  was  throwing  off  his  coat.  "  Of  course 
it  is  a  chance  in  a  thousand.  But  —  " 

"What  do  you  mean?"  demanded  Noemie, 
frowning,  a  slight  hauteur  showing  in  the  well- 
known  up-throw  of  her  head. 

11  Only  this,"  said  Cortland,  his  voice  still 
quivering  with  excitement ;  "  perhaps  I  am  but 
dreaming  of  fool's  gold.  Still  —  we  may  find 
the  Lafayette  sword  I " 

"  Where  ?  "  cried  the  girl,  startled.  She  looked 
up  at  the  balconied  turret,  as  if  the  long-lost 
weapon  might,  by  some  magic,  be  suspended 
there. 

"Here.    Here,  in  the  flower-box.    You  have 


THE  SWORD  217 

said  yourself  that  it  remains  just  as  it  was  then, 
•when  Pierre  de  Laussan,  your  uncle,  went  away. 
Except  for  the  replanting  of  roots  and  seeds, 
the  earth  may  never  have  been  touched.  And 
see,  the  box  is  more  than  four  feet  deep;  the 
sword  could  lie  far  below  the  roots!  You  know 
it  was  here  that  Pierre  waited  for  Hercule." 

He  spoke  rapidly,  breathlessly,  running  his 
palm  up  and  down  the  handle  of  the  spade. 

Noemie's  clasped  hands  were  pressed  against 
her  heart.  She  had  instant  conviction  that  the 
long  quest  was  ended ;  that  the  ardently  desired 
moment  had  come,  when  the  past  would  yield  up 
its  secret.  And  in  place  of  the  rapturous  delight 
which  she  had  imagined  herself  feeling  at  such  a 
moment,  despair  clutched  at  her  heart ! 

"Snakes  is  crawlin'  in  de  grass,"  muttered 
Uncle  Mink,  standing  at  her  elbow;  "  I  feels  it." 

A  low  whistle  escaped  the  pursed  lips  of  Old 
Babe,  hunched  upon  the  railing. 

Cortland,  oblivious  of  these  cross-gales,  kept 
his  eyes  fixed  upon  Noemie's  face.  An  almost 
imperceptible  movement  of  the  head  finally  re- 
warded his  gaze.  The  girl  dropped  nerveless 
upon  the  bench,  but  her  frightened,  fascinated 


218  THE  PRICE  OF  SILENCE 

eyes  remained  set  upon  the  alien,  the  outsider, 
whose  muscular  arms  drove  the  spade  lower  and 
lower  into  the  packed  loam  of  the  box  ;  turning 
the  clods  this  way  and  that  with  deliberate  haste ; 
getting,  she  felt  it,  nearer  and  nearer  to  that 
treasure  which  her  own  people  for  two  genera- 
tions —  which  Maxime !  —  had  sought  in  vain. 

The  uprooted  alyssum  dropped  out  upon  the 
terrace  floor ;  the  droning  bee  hid  himself  among 
the  shaken  branches  of  the  plumbago,  dragged 
out  in  its  turn  and  laid  aside ;  the  pile  of  rich, 
black  earth  grew  higher ;  the  girl's  heart  beat 
more  quickly ;  now  with  an  infusion  of  hope. 
It  surely  was  not  there  ! 

Cortland  threw  down  the  spade  and  seated 
himself,  panting  a  little,  on  the  bench  beside  her. 
He  laughed  ruefully,  showing  the  well-nigh  blis- 
tered palms  of  his  large,  handsome  hands.  "  Fool's 
gold !"  he  admitted,  in  a  tone  of  deep  dejection ; 
"  I  wonder  if  you  will  ever  forgive  me !  At  least, 
I  trust  the  plumbago  roots  are  uninjured.  I  will 
reset  them  at  once.  If  your  blue  girdle  should 
suffer—" 

"  Oh,"  cried  Noemie,  smiling,  one  would  have 
said  gratefully,  "  do  not  think  of  that.  It  was 


THE   SWORD  219 

worth  trying  for.  We  would  never  have  been 
satisfied  if  we  had  not  tried."  We  !  She  could 
afford  to  be  magnanimous !  She  breathed  a 
prayer  of  thankfulness,  as  for  a  great  danger 
overpast. 

"  Well ! "  — he  got  to  his  feet,  this  time  slowly, 
— "  let  us  repair  the  ravages."  He  threw  a 
spadeful  of  earth  into  the  box. 

"  Don't,"  said  Noemie  ;  "  Uncle  Mink  will  —  " 

"  One  more  try,"  muttered  Cortland  half  aloud. 
He  pushed  the  spade  in,  leaning  far  over  the  box. 
Noemie  heard  a  faint  grating  ;  the  bottom  ! 

"Ah  /"  Cortland's  voice  seemed  to  echo  up  as 
from  a  well ;  his  head  and  shoulders  were  dipped 
forward  into  the  excavation  he  had  made.  He 
had  laid  the  spade  aside  and  was  digging  with 
his  hands. 

He  laid  the  ancient  sword  upon  the  table  in 
the  library,  and  stepped  back  with  that  air  of 
anxious  deference,  long  discarded  when  alone 
with  Madame  de  Laussan.  The  damp  loam  still 
clung  to  the  scabbard  and  belt-buckle,  both 

o 

encrusted  with  rust.  The  silver  and  gold  mount- 
ings were  tarnished  almost  to  blackness.  Only 


220  THE  PRICE  OF  SILENCE 

the  great  jewel,  set  in  the  scroll-work  of  the  hilt, 
flashed  in  the  softened  light  of  the  room  like  a 
flaming  eye,  untouched  by  mould,  or  rust,  or 
time. 

Madame  de  Laussan,  sitting  in  her  high-backed 
chair  drawn  up  near  the  table,  looked  long  — 
her  brain  teeming  with  God  knows  what  memo- 
ries !  —  at  the  familiar  and  unf orgotten  heirloom. 
A  fluttering  sigh,  exhaled  from  her  blanched  lips, 
gave  the  only  sign  that  life  stirred  within  her. 
Her  cold  grasp  tightened  upon  Noemie's  hand 
nestled  in  her  own  ;  but  without  a  glance  at  the 
young  face,  as  set  as  hers,  she  bent  her  head  in 
token  of  acceptance. 

"  The  Quest  is  ended  —  Noemie  ?  "  His  utter- 
ance was  shaken  by  an  emotion  more  unmixed 
with  selfishness  than  any  he  had  ever  known.  For 
the  moment  all  egotism,  every  mean  considera- 
tion, was  swept  out  of  sight.  A  strange  humility 
softened  his  features;  he  extended  his  hand, 
which  trembled,  toward  the  girl ;  hers,  slowly 
outreached,  met  his  above  the  recovered  sword, 
and  lay  passively  in  the  blistered  palm. 

She  had  accepted  Fate. 


XXIII 

OLD    BABE 

FOR  a  month  and  more  there  had  been  a  rare 
flutter  throughout  the  Vieux  Carre  and  the 
Quartier  Americain  of  New  Orleans.  Snatches 
of  eighteenth-century  music,  thin,  sweet,  aerial, 
were  whistled  on  street-corners,  strummed  on 
guitar  and  piano,  "patted"  by  gamins  along  the 
banquettes ;  more  coherent  strains  floated  out 
into  the  night  from  salon  and  boudoir,  where 
belles  and  beaux  were  rehearsing  menuet  and 
gavotte  to  be  danced  by  chosen  groups  at  the  Great 
Centennial  Ball  in  preparation  for  the  eighteenth 
of  December,  the  ball  commemorating  the  trans- 
fer of  the  Province  of  Louisiana  from  France  to 
the  United  States  one  hundred  years  before, 
1803. 

Old  prints  and  dog-eared  "Books  of  Costumes," 
dragged  from  their  hiding-places,  or  disgorged 
by  the  reluctant  Petitpain,  were  spread  upon 
tables  for  the  better  convenience  of  the  eager 


222  THE  PRICE  OF  SILENCE 

young  heads  clustered  above  them  ;  fresh  young 
voices  discussed,  amid  shrieks  of  laughter,  the 
shocking  scantiness  and  the  absurd  prettiuess  of 
the  Directoire  gown ;  slim  young  fingers  sketched 
outlines  of  Empire  corsage,  or  Colonial  scarf; 
young  tresses  were  "  tried  "  in  impossible  coif- 
fures ;  from  ancient  closets  and  time-polished 
cedar-chests  came  forth  great-great  grandmamma's 
flowered  brocade,  stiff  enough  to  stand  alone 
(as  if  that  were  a  virtue,  sniffed  my  Lady  Disdain), 
her  lace  handkerchief,  yellow,  smelling  of  dried 
rose  leaves,  her  red-heeled  satin  slippers,  frayed 
at  the  toes  with  much  dancing,  the  high-backed 
comb  presented  by  the  handsome  Spanish  Gover- 
nor-General Galvez  to  papa's  great-great-great 
grande  cousine;  the  dangling  earrings  worn  by 
an  ancestress  at  one  of  the  Marquis  de  Vaudreuil's 
famous  routs ;  the  Watteau  fan  carried  by  the  wife 
of  the  first  American  Governor ;  the  body-waist 
of  a  French  Commandant's  Virginian  bride. 

The  dead-and-gone  belles  who  wore  these  nar- 
row slips,  danced  in  these  buckled  slippers,  flirted 
with  these  fans  of  a  bygone  day,  —  surely  they 
would  have  turned  in  their  oven-vaults  in  the 
Cimetiere  St.  Louis  could  they  have  beheld  their 


OLD  BABE  223 

graceless  descendants  overhauling,  with  flippant 
giggles  and  contemptuous  flouts,  their  cherished 
finery !  Yet  more  surely  still  would  they  have 
settled  back  into  their  places  with  satisfied 
smiles,  seeing  how  bewitching  those  same  de- 
scendants were,  tricked  out  in  their  own  treasured 
gear! 

Noemie  Carrington,  by  virtue  of  her  direct 
descent  from  Antoine  de  Laussan  and  from  Raoul 
Destrehan,  —  that  Castor-and-Pollux  pair  who 
came  over  from  France  when  the  Province  was 
young,  and  who  left  behind  them  a  fiery  record 
made  up  of  adventures  in  love  and  war, — was  in- 
cluded in  the  list  of  dancers  of  the  gavotte.  She 
found  in  the  rehearsals,  and  in  the  eager  search 
after  correct  costumes,  an  escape  from  Cortland's 
irritating  presence.  The  poor  child  felt — Quixotic 
as  this  may  seem  —  bound  by  honor  to  the  finder 
of  the  lost  sword,  whom  curious  destiny,  passing 
over  all  others,  had  decreed  should  be  Cortland. 
The  engagement  was  still  a  family  secret.  "  No, 
not  until  the  day  after  the  ball/'  she  said  deci- 
sively, at  each  of  those  constrained  and  almost 
wholly  silent  daily  interviews  with  her  lover, 
when  he  urged  a  public  announcement.  Upon 


224  THE  PRICE  OF  SILENCE 

this  Major  Grandchamps  also  insisted,  though 
unaware  of  the  girl's  real  feelings. 

Madame  de  Laussan  had  taken  to  her  own 
apartment  the  day  the  Lafayette  sword,  cleansed 
of  mould  and  purged  of  rust,  had  been  restored 
to  its  place  above  the  library  mantel ;  the  day  Cort- 
land,  in  the  short  regulation  interview  with  her, 
had  said  at  parting  :  "  I  have  her  at  last.  Mine  ! 
Mine !  And  let  me  warn  you,  once  for  all,  madame, 
the  least  symptom  of  drawing  back  on  your  part 
or  hers  —  the  letter  !  " 

"  At  least  he  will  keep  silent  now,  for  his  wife's 
sake,"  she  whispered  over  and  over  again  to 
Sirene.  "Oh,  but  certainly,  'Tite  Maitresse,"  the 
mulattress  invariably  replied ;  and  as  invariably 
added  between  her  teeth,  "Coquin!  he  is  capable 
of  telling  all  to  the  first  comer.  May  the  bones  rot 
in  his  body !  for  'Sieur  Maxime  is  surely  dead." 

"  I  wish  I  might  stay  at  home  with  you,  ma 
mere"  sobbed  Noemie,  the  night  of  the  ball,  on 
her  knees  beside  Madame  de  Laussan's  couch,  her 
bright  young  head  prone  on  the  older  woman's 
breast.  "If  I  could  only  die  —  before  to-mor- 
row !  I  hate  him  so,  ma  mere,  I  hate  him  so ! 
Why  must  I  marry  a  man  I  hate  ?  Surely  God 


OLD  BABE  225 

will  forgive  us  both  if  we  break  that  foolish 
oath." 

Madame  de  Laussan  started ;  she  had  in  truth 
forgotten  the  oath  —  long  ago  !  —  nor  had  she 
fairly  realized  until  this  moment  that  Noemie  was 
unaware  of  her  own  powerful  reason  for  allowing 
the  marriage.  "  Pauvre  enfant,"  she  murmured, 
drawing  the  girl  closer  within  her  arms.  She  lifted 
despairing  eyes  to  Sirene  standing  at  the  foot  of 
the  couch.  "  Shall  I  tell  her  the  truth?  "  the  eyes 
mutely  questioned.  "Shall  I  kill  one  horror  with 
another?  ShaU  I?"  "No,  no.  Not  now,  'Tite 
Maitresse,"  Sirene's  blazing  eyes  returned. 

"Mon  tr6sor,  my  cherished,"  —  the  old  voice 
was  heart-breakingly  tender,  —  "go  now;  it  is 
time  to  dress.  Make  thyself  beautiful,  mon  bebe" 

"For  the  last  time,"  —  Noemie  bent  over  to 
caress  the  fevered  cheek,  —  "I  will,  ma  mere. 
As  for  to-morrow  —  " 

The  artificial  gayety  of  her  manner  was  under- 
laid with  something  like  defiance.  The  two 
women  looked  after  her  apprehensively  as  she 
left  the  room. 

"  I  will  tell  her  to-morrow,"  declared  Madame 
de  Laussan  slowly. 


226  THE  PRICE  OF  SILENCE 

"  You  will  not  tell  her,"  stormed  Sirene ;  "  it  is 
not  true,  'Tite  Maitresse;  Madame Gabrielle  lied! 
Is  it  that  you  wish  to  murder  her,  our  bebe! 
Me,  I  will  not  permit  it.  The  cocodril!  the  dog ! 
Pardon,  my  angel,  my  mistress !  pardon."  She 
dropped  to  the  floor,  and  drew  the  bare  feet  of 
her  mistress  against  her  forehead  in  token  of  sub- 
mission. 

"  I  will  tell  her  to-morrow,"  repeated  Madame 
de  Laussan. 

The  maid,  whose  deft  fingers  had  been  busy 
about  the  radiant  figure  standing  in  front  of  the 
cheval-glass,  drew  back  for  a  last  critical  survey 
of  her  young  mistress,  then  retired  with  a  deep 
sigh  of  content.  It  wanted  yet  a  half  hour  to 
the  time  set  for  the  arrival  of  Madame  and 
Mademoiselle  Berthet  with  the  carriage.  Noe'mie 
sank  listlessly  into  a  chair,  clasping  her  knee  with 
her  ungloved  hands,  and  gazing  abstractedly  into 
the  smouldering  embers  in  the  fireplace. 

Old  Babe,  permitted  to  assist  at  the  toilette, 
crouched  at  her  feet,  caressing  with  brown,  velvety 
fingers  the  slender  ankles  in  their  silken  gear. 

"  Miss  No-wee,  you  sho'  do  beat  de  Queen  o' 


OLD  BABE  227 

Rex !  D'  ain't  nobody  kin  tech  you."  The  small 
handmaid  nodded  an  ecstatic  head. 

Noemie  was  indeed  beautiful,  despite  the  now 
habitual  pallor  of  her  cheeks,  and  the  sadness 
which  circled  her  starry  eyes  with  violet  rings. 
The  short-waisted  gown  of  satin  brocade,  which 
clung  so  closely  to  her  slight  form,  was  the  tint 
of  old  ivory  from  age ;  so  was  the  fall  of  price- 
less lace  upon  the  low  corsage,  and  the  quaintly- 
puffed  short  sleeves ;  a  jeweled  clasp,  which  once 
adorned  the  waist  of  a  queen  of  France,  drew 
into  place  the  broad  rose-colored  sash ;  the  glitter- 
ing buckles,  mementos  of  the  same  hapless 
queen,  shone  on  her  red-heeled  dancing-shoes. 
The  de  Laussan  diamonds  sparkled  in  the  up- 
piled  puffs  and  curls  of  her  coiffure ;  the  milk- 
white  Destrehan  pearls  melted  into  the  whiter 
neck  and  arms. 

"  Reckin  you  gwine  to  dance  dat  Virginny-reel 
wi'  Mist*  Cotelan',  ain't  you,  Miss  No-mee?" 
Old  Babe  rounded  her  lips  enigmatically. 

"No,  Old  Babe,"  returned  her  mistress  ab- 
sently. 

"  Hmp!  He  's  plum  pi'zen,  dat  Mist'  Cotelan'." 
Noe'mie,  gazing  into  the  coals,  made  no  reply. 


228  THE  PRICE  OF  SILENCE 

Old  Babe,  unabashed,  presently  resumed  her 
inquiries.  "Huccum  Mist'  Cotelan'  to  mek  sech 
a  'miration  'bout  findin'  dat  swode  tether  day, 
•when  he  done  bury  it  dar  hisse'f  ?" 

"  What  are  you  saying,  Old  Babe  ?  "  demanded 
Noemie,  frowning,  as  if  the  words  had  fallen  on 
ears  but  half  open. 

"  I  say,  what  mek  dat  white  man  'ten'  lak  he 
am'  nuver  seed  dat  swode,  when  he  done  dug  it 
inter  dat  flower-box  hisse'f?" 

"  What!"  Noemie  sat  up,  suddenly  electri- 
fied. "Are  you  crazy,  Old  Babe?  What  do 
you  mean  ?  " 

"  No  'm.  I  ain'  crazy.  An'  I  ain'  lyin',"  said 
Old  Babe  with  dignity.  "  An'  I  knows  what  I  'm 
a-sayin'.  Gaze,  /  seen  him  do  it !  " 

"You  —  what?" 

"  Wi'  dese  here  two  eyes.   I  seen  him,  yas'm." 

"  Old  Babe,  tell  me  at  once,  what  —  " 

"Yas'm,  fo'  Gawd,  I  gwine  to  tell  de  trut'! 
Hit 's  thes  this-a-way,  Miss  No-mee.  I  wuz 
quoiled  up  under  de  eedge  of  de  billium-room 
winder,  —  on  de  outside, — tether  night.  I  wan't 
in  no  mis-cheefj  Miss  No-wee.  I  wuz  thes  hidin' 
out  fum  daddy,  caze  daddy  —  " 


OLD  BABE  229 

"  Old  Babe,  if  you  don't  tell  me  what  you  know, 
I  will  call  Uncle  Mink  this  minute,"  cried  Noemie, 
exasperated.  "Go  on!" 

"  Yas'm ;  I  wuz  thes  quoiled  up  under  de  billium- 
room  winder,  thes  lookin'  thoo  a  teenchy-weenchy 
crack  —  it  wuz  dat  night  you  went  somers  wi' 
Miss  Jeanne  an  Mars  Felix,  you  'member?" 

"  Yes,  yes.    Go  on  /" 

"  An'  I  seed  Mist'  Cotelan',  a'ter  a  while,  come 
prancin,'  biggaty,  lak  he  do  prance,  inter  de  bil- 
lium-room,  totin'  a  bunnle.  He  done  onwrop  de 
bunnle  an'  't  wan't  no  mo*  'n  some  o'  dem  sticks 
you-all  knocks  billiuin-balls  wi'.  But  dey  wuz 
somep'n  wrop'  up  inside  'em.  An'  hit  wuz  a 
swode.  Cross  my  heart,  swar  to  God  hit  wuz 
a  swode  —  dat  same  rusty  swode  what  Mist'  Cote- 
Ian'  dug  up  out'n  de  flower-box.  Caze  he  look'  all 
eroun',  Mist'  Cotelan'  did ;  den  he  went  out'n  de 
do'  todes  de  te'ace.  I  done  jump  down  fum  dat 
winder  an'  lickety-split  eroun'  de  house.  I  had  to 
climb  de  wall."  Old  Babe  paused  to  give  a  remi- 
niscent chuckle.  "  Hit  wuz  dark  ez  pitch.  Seem- 
lak  Mist'  Cotelan'  must  ha'  loose-up  de  dirt  in  dat 
box  bef  o',  caze  it  did  n't  tek  him  so  mighty-long 
lak  it  did  tether  day.  I  watched  him.  Yas'm.  An' 


230          THE  PRICE  OF  SILENCE 

I  seed  him  bury  dat  swode.  He  done  shevel  back 
de  dirt,  an'  drap  down  on  his  knees  to  scrape  up 
de  crumbs.  Den  he  done  pat  down  de  yearth  in  de 
box,  pat,  pat,  pat  I  I  reckin  he  sot  dein  sweep- 
erlissiums  back.  I  know  he  did  n't  'sturb  de  lum- 
bagos.  He  didn't  say  nothin',  jes  grunt  onct  in  a 
while.  Reckin'  't  wuz  hard  work  fer  a  genterman. 
Hmp  !  'Reckly  he  come  down  to  de  hydrum  an' 
wash  his  ban's.  I  wuz  hidin'  behine  de  big  water- 
jar.  Den  he  toted  de  spade  an'  shevel  out  to 
de  coach-house.  I  heered  him  'bine  de  cayage 
breshin'  his  clo's  an'  laughin'  to  hisse'f .  'Reckly 
he  come  out,  dodgin'  along  de  wall,  twell  he  got 
to  de  te'ace  agin.  He  look'  down  on  de  flower- 
box,  lak  he  wuz  studyin'  some  mo'  devilment; 
an'  den  he  went  back  into  de  Gret  House.  I  run 
back,  lickety-split,  an'  quoiled  under  de  billium- 
room  winder.  I  reckin  I  mus'  ha'  went  to  sleep, 
caze  when  I  done  peep,  you  wuz  in  de  billium- 
room  long  o'  Mist'  Cotelan'.  I  could  n'  hear 
nothin',  but  I  spec  dat  buckra-man  done  tole  you 
dat  he  been  settin*  dar  all  ebenin'  waitin'  fer  you, 
ontwel  seem-lak  you  wuz  ez  long  er-comin'ez  de 
Day  o'  Jedgment.  Ain't  it,  Miss  No-wee  ?  " 
Noemie  had  leaped  to  her  feet ;  her  eyes  shot 


OLD  BABE  231 

sparkles,  her  white  bosom  heaved.  "  Old  Babe," 
—  she  stooped  until  she  brought  her  scarlet 
cheek  close  against  the  child's  black  one;  she 
spoke  slowly,  almost  sternly,  — "  listen,  Old 
Babe.  Do  you  know  what  happens  to  people 
when  they  do  not  tell  the  truth  ?  " 

"Me?  Oh,  yas'm,"  returned  Old  Babe  com- 
placently ;  "  Gawd  A'mighty  strikes  'em  bline ; 
an'  ole  black  Satun  shivels  'em  up." 

"  You  saw  Mr.  Cortland  take  a  sword  out  of  a 
bundle  of  billiard-cues  ?  " 

"  Sticks  ?  Yas,  Miss  No-wee." 

"  And  you  saw  him  dig  a  hole  in  the  flower- 
box  on  Pierre's  Terrace,  and  put  that  sword  in 
the  hole,  and  cover  it  over?" 

"  Yas'm,  Miss  No-mee,  I  wuz  quoiled  up  under 
de  billium-winder.  I  seed  him  dig  dat  hole  an* 
bury  dat  swode.  I  wuz  scrooch-up  behine  de  big 
water-jar.  Fo'  Gawd,  I  ain'  lyin',  Miss  No-mee." 

"  I  believe  you,  Old  Babe.  But  you  must  not 
tell  anybody  else,  understand?  You  are  a  good 
girl,  Old  Babe,"  —  she  had  scurried  across  the 
room  and  was  rummaging  in  the  drawers  of  her 
dressing-table,  —  "  here  's  a  sash-ribbon  for  you, 
Old  Babe,  and  some  stockings,  silk,  Old  Babe, 


232  THE  PRICE  OF  SILENCE 

and  a  silver  thimble,  and  some  beads,  and  a  fan 
with  only  one  stick  broken,  and  yes !  a  gold 
ring."  She  tossed  these  articles  one  by  one  to 
Old  Babe,  whose  face,  for  ecstatic  joy,  fairly 
matched  her  own. 

"  Yes,  Felise,  I  am  coming," —  for  the  maid  at 
the  door  was  announcing  the  carriage.  "  Good- 
night, Old  Babe,  the  False  Prince  will  be  riding 
away  to-morrow ;  and  the  True  Prince  —  the 
True  Prince,  Old  Babe  —  " 

"  Yas'm,  Miss  No-wee,"  said  Old  Babe,  bewil- 
dered, but  showing  her  teeth  in  an  appreciative 
grin. 

Noemie  flew  down  the  stairs  on  light  feet  — 
the  same  stairs,  the  same  feet,  which,  two  hours 
before,  were  so  toilsome  the  one,  and  so  leaden 
the  other.  She  was  humming  "  Colinette  a  la 
Cour  "  as  she  approached  Madame  de  Laussan's 
bedside. 

"  Why,  Noemie !  Why,  my  adored  !"  Madame 
de  Laussan  raised  herself  on  her  elbow  to  stare 
at  this  embodiment  of  youth,  hope,  loveliness, 
gayety. 

"  Will  I  do,  ma  mere  f  "  cried  the  girl,  whirl- 
ing her  scant  skirts  into  a  "  cheese,"  and  sinking 


OLD  BABE  233 

demurely  to  the  floor.  "  Will  the  shades  of  the 
de  Laussan  and  the  Destrehan  be  content  ?  "  The 
echoes  of  her  laughter  ran  like  sprites  about  the 
dimly-lit  bedchamber. 

"  I  think  she  is  going  mad !  "  whispered  Si- 
rene,  awestruck,  when  the  door  had  closed  and 
the  strains  of  "  Colinette  a  la  Cour  "  came  back, 
muffled  but  spirited,  from  the  stair. 

Madame  de  Laussan  covered  her  face  with 
her  hands.  "  The  night  before  her  execution," 
she  quoted  softly  from  a  family  chronicle,  "  the 
young  Marquise  de  Laussan  danced  in  a  gavotte 
in  the  prison  of  the  Conciergerie.  The  Comte 
de  G.  records  that  her  innocent  gayety  was  as 
unrestrained  as  if  the  morrow  were  to  dawn  upon 


XXIV 

THE  GAVOTTE 

NEW  ORLEANS,  on  the  night  of  the  eight- 
eenth of  December,  nineteen  hundred  and 
three,  was  en  fete.  From  the  upper  tip  of  her  cres- 
cent, resting  upon  the  sodded  levee  at  South- 
port,  to  the  lower  horn  which  nestles  amid  the 
magnolias  of  Jackson  Barracks,  a  dazzling  proces- 
sion of  electric  lights  threw  a  clear  radiance  up- 
ward to  the  sky,  and  showered  silver  mist  into  the 
Mississippi ;  the  warships,  French,  Spanish,  and 
American,  riding  at  anchor  in  mid-stream,  were 
outlined  in  fire  whose  broken  reflection  turned 
the  water  below  to  a  restless  tossing  of  molten 
gold;  the  streets,  gay  with  the  flags  of  three 
nations,  were  a  network  of  shining  roadways,  all 
leading  in  the  direction  of  the  French  Opera 
House  in  Rue  Bourbon,  the  centre,  as  it  were  the 
heart,  of  this  Thousand  and  Second  Night.  Here 
carriages,  an  endless  succession,  were  arriving, 
pausing  to  discharge  their  occupants,  hurrying 


THE  GAVOTTE  235 

on  to  give  place.  The  great  double  entrance  stair- 
way swarmed  with  ascending  guests;  the  narrow 
banquettes,  the  projecting  balconies,  the  sloping 
roofs  around,  were  packed  with  humanity,  noisy, 
good-humored,  ejaculating  humanity.  Within 
the  vast  amphitheatre — proscenium  boxes,  loges 
decouvertes,  loges  grillees,  baignoires,  banes — was 
equally  packed  with  humanity ;  but  silken-clad, 
jeweled,  starred :  stately  women  and  slender  maids, 
beautiful  in  carefully  considered  toilettes ;  men  in 
evening-dress ;  naval  and  military  officers  in  full 
uniform  ;  ambassadors,  foreign  representatives ; 
state  and  city  dignitaries,  glittering  with  gold  lace. 
The  parquet  and  orchestra,  floored  over  for 
dancing,  were  lighted  by  varicolored  globes  strung 
jewel-like  from  the  vaulted  ceiling.  A  rose-gar- 
landed dais  encircling  the  immense  stage  made 
a  fit  throne  for  half  a  hundred  patched  and  pow- 
dered grandes  dames  in  the  court-dress  of  Louis 
XV  and  the  Empire,  and  the  simpler  but  no  less 
effective  costume  of  the  American  Revolution. 
A  band,  screened  by  palms  whose  fronds  tow- 
ered up  into  the  flies,  preluded  the  ball  with 
old-time  airs :  "  Les  fetes  d'Hebe ;  "  "  Armide ; " 
"  La  Chasse  du  jeune  Henri." 


236  THE  PKICE  OF  SILENCE 

Madame  Berthet's  carriage  had  driven  to  the 
stage  entrance  in  Rue  Toulouse.  Preceded  by 
Jeanne,  jeweled  and  scarfed  for  the  minuet,  and 
by  Noemie,  scarfed  and  jeweled  for  the  gavotte, 
Madame  Berthet  climbed  the  tortuous  stair  which 
gives  access  to  that  mysterious  region  known  as 
"  behind  the  scenes." 

Noemie  paused  on  the  threshold  of  the  mir- 
rored greenroom  to  gaze  with  entranced  eyes  at 
the  bewildering  panorama  within. 

"  A  leaf  from  *  Youth's  sweet-scented  Manu- 
script,' "  suggested  Strang,  at  her  elbow.  "How 
dare  mere  man,  with  but  a  band  of  blue  silk 
across  his  conventional  shirt-front  to  mark  him 
as  one  of  the  Elect,  venture  into  such  a  kalei- 
doscope of  loveliness  ?  Methinks  only  an  immor- 
tal in  the  shining  panoply  of  Heaven  were 
worthy." 

"  Mere  man,  in  this  case,"  replied  Noemie,  sur- 
veying him  gravely,  "ought  to  be  ashamed  of 
himself  for  declining  the  trouble  of  laced  coat 
and  knee-breeches." 

"  That  may  not  have  been  the  reason  —  with 
some  of  us  shrunk-shanks,"  grimaced  Donald ; 
"but  you,  mademoiselle  lajeunesse" — he  bent 


THE   GAVOTTE  237 

gallantly  over  her  hand,  —  "you  are  the  most 
golden  letter  on  the  aforesaid  leaf." 

She  passed  on,  greeted  with  an  admiring  chorus 
from  the  waiting  dancers  flashing  excitedly  about 
the  long  room,  laughing,  babbling  compliments, 
practicing  glide  and  curtsy,  turning  one  another 
about  with  shrill  cries  of  astonished  recognition. 

"  What  has  come  over  her  ?  "  mused  Strang, 
watching  her  from  the  doorway.  "Has  the 
Changeling  who  has  usurped  the  castle  for  so 
long  been  withdrawn  ?  and  has  the  rightful 
Princess  been  restored  to  her  own  ?  " 

Noemie,  as  if  answering  his  unspoken  thought, 
looked  over  at  him  and  smiled.  She  stood  against 
one  of  those  mildewed  mirrors  before  which 
generations  of  danseuses  have  bounded  and 
pirouetted,  and  falcons  and  chanteuses  legeres 
have  settled  jewel  and  plume  before  "going  on." 
She  radiated  gladness  upon  the  group  gathered 
about  her.  At  the  back  of  her  brain,  beyond 
the  badinage  and  repartee  of  the  moment,  there 
was  music  to  which  the  heart  danced.  "  /  am 
free,"  the  strain  went ;  "  /  am  no  longer  bound. 
It  is  as  if  neither  my  grandmother  nor  myself 
had  taken  an  oath.  And  if  she  has  ever  had 


238  THE  PRICE  OF  SILENCE 

other  reasons  "  —  here  the  melody  was  a  trifle 
jarred  — "for  wishing  me  to  marry  him,  she  will 
not  wish  it  when  she  knows  what  I  know"  So, 
the  strain  swung  once  more  with  rhythm.  "  And 
if —  if  Maxime  —  " 

The  minuet-dancers  had  filed  with  slow  and 
graceful  step,  half  an  hour  earlier,  through  the 
wings,  out  upon  the  dancing-floor.  The  loud 
bursts  of  applause,  mingled  with  the  measured 
movement  of  the  minuet  from  Mozart's  "Don 
Juan,"  had  been  drifting  into  the  greenroom. 
Now  the  flushed  performers  were  stepping  back 
in  rhythmic  line ;  the  gavotte  was  forming. 

"One  familiar  with  the  history  of  our  old 
town,"  one  of  the  brocaded  grandes  dames  was 
explaining  to  a  foreign  ambassador  who  stood 
beside  her  in  the  greenroom,  where  her  word 
was  law,  watching  with  pleased  eyes  the  animated 
scene  before  them,  "  would  find  among  the 
two  hundred  young  men  and  women,  partici- 
pants in  these  dances,  many  names  familiar  to  its 
early  records,  social,  military,  and  political ;  the 
Delery,  Grima,  Castellanos,  Villere,  Fortier,  Beau- 
regard,  Claiborne,  de  Laussan —  Ah,  pardon!  I 
am  forgetting  a  duty !  "  She  flitted  away,  cast- 


THE  GAVOTTE  239 

ing  anxious  and  nervous  glances  to  right  and 
left. 

Noemie  looked  about  her,  also  with  questioning 
eyes,  aware  for  the  first  time  that  Jules  Lestrappes, 
her  own  partner,  had  not  presented  himself. 

"  Miss  Carrington,"  —  the  grande  dame  was 
genuinely  distressed,  —  "  your  dancing-partner, 
Mr.  Lestrappes,  is  unable  to  be  present  to-night. 
He  has  been  called  away  by  the  serious  illness 
of  his  father.  I  have  not  told  you  before,  be- 
cause—  Ah,  here  he  comes!"  she  broke  off, 
relieved.  "  I  was  really  afraid  you  had  forgotten 
your  pledge,  Major  Grandchamps." 

"  Madame,  a  pledge  to  Beauty  could  never  be 
forgotten — by  me."  Major  Grandchamps  used 
his  courtliest  tone,  as  he  bent  to  brush  her  jew- 
eled fingers  with  his  moustached  lips. 

Noemie,  at  the  sound  of  his  voice,  had  started 
eagerly  forward ;  she  shrank  hastily  back,  to 
stand  with  parted  lips,  alternately  reddening  and 
paling ;  unable,  after  the  first  glance,  to  lift  her 
coward  eyelids.  Was  it  a  dream?  Could  she 
have  imagined  the  tall,  supple  form  making  its 
way  in  and  out,  through  the  slowly  moving  file 
of  the  gavotte  ?  Her  uncle's  quiet,  highbred  voice 


240  THE   PRICE  OF  SILENCE 

fell  upon  her  agitated  senses :  "Noemie,  my  dear, 
I  bring  the  regrets  of  young  Lestrappes,  who,  as 
you  doubtless  know  already,  cannot  be  here  this 
evening.  I  also  bring  you  a  partner  for  the  ga- 
votte, whom  I  trust  you  will  find  an  agreeable 
substitute.  Miss  Carrington,  Captain  Allard,  of 
the  United  States  Army,  my  godson." 

Noemie  put  out  her  hand  mechanically;  at 
the  firm,  muscular  grasp  of  the  soldier's  hand 
uncertainty  vanished.  She  raised  her  eyes  con- 
fidently —  to  drop  them  again  before  the  ardent 
questioning  in  his. 

As  in  a  dream,  she  took  her  place  beside  him,  for 
"  La  Fete  du  Village  "  was  sending  its  sprightly 
call  from  the  musician's  bower,  and  stepped  out 
from  the  shelter  of  the  wings  into  the  full  blaze 
of  light  beyond.  As  in  a  dream,  she  made  with 
him  the  circuit  of  the  immense  dancing-floor; 
pausing  to  bend  low  before  the  Grandes  Dames 
on  the  garlanded  dais.  The  pretty  dance,  with  its 
staccato  movement  and  rhythmic  interludes,  had 
fairly  begun  before  either  of  the  pair  found  speech. 

"  You  will  forgive  my  awkwardness,  Miss 
Carrington,"  Allard  said  in  the  first  pause.  "  I 
learned  something  like  the  gavotte  when  I  was 


THE  GAVOTTE  241 

a  little  chap,"  —  the  exigencies  of  the  dance 
whirled  them  apart.  —  "  Do  you  remember  Bro- 
card's  Academic  de  Danse,  where  you  and  I  and 
Jeanne  Berthet"  —  another  momentary  separa- 
tion cut  his  reminiscences  short. 

"  When  did  you  return  from  France?"  Noe- 
mie  questioned. 

"  This  morning,  by  way  of  New  York.  I  have 
not  reported,  yet,  at  the  Barracks.  I  have  been 
practicing  —  gavotting  —  all  day,"  he  explained 
from  time  to  time,  during  the  brief  intervals  of 
waiting  a  turn.  "  With  Jeanne  —  Madame  Ber- 
thet at  the  piano  —  1'oncle  Grandchamps  look- 
ing on,  jeering  and  encouraging  —  There  !  I 
have  made  another  blunder.  Have  I  put  you 
out?  —  Sorry  for  old  Lestrappes,  parole  d'hon- 
neur —  But  I  may  be  permitted  to  bless  the  Fates, 
n'est-ce  pas  ?  " 

"A  handsome  pair  that!"  commented  more 
than  one  spectator ;  "  how  beautifully  they  take 
the  spirited  step  together !  " 

"  As  I  live,  Noemie  Carrington  and  Maxime 
Allard !  Has  the  Southern  Confederacy  then 
buried  the  hatchet?  Or  has  Major  Grandchamps 
gone  blind ! " 


242  THE  PRICE  OF  SILENCE 

"  What  has  become  of  the  dark-browed  Cort- 
land,  I  wonder." 

"  Yonder  he  is,  looking  down  at  her,  impas- 
sive, as  usual.  They  say  he  has  turned  Catholic 
for  the  bright  eyes  of  Noemie.  I  hear  he  is  three 
times  millionaire." 

"  Ah  !  If  he  has  changed  religion,  it  is  more 
likely  that  the  de  Laussan  diamonds  were  the 
awakening  light." 

"  She  has  them  on.  See  !  And  those  wonder- 
ful Destrehan  pearls." 

The  gavotte  had  come  to  an  end,  upon  a  clear, 
abrupt  note.  lit  was  being  enthusiastically  en- 
cored. 

"  You  are  beautiful  as  a  vision,"  whispered 
Allard,  catching  the  step  now  as  if  by  instinct. 

"  Doubtless  you  saw  many  beautiful  women  in 
Paris,"  remarked  Noemie,  smiling  over  her  shoul- 
der, as  she  floated  away,  light  as  a  bit  of  thistle- 
down. 

"  Not  one.  Did  —  did  you  miss  me  a  little  — 
Noemie  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Maxime,"  under  cover  of  the  renewed 
clapping  of  hands. 

He  took  leave  of  her  at  the  entrance  to  the 


THE   GAVOTTE  243 

greenroom.  "  My  leave  expires  at  midnight,"  he 
said ;  "  and  I  have  some  reports  to  file.  I  am  to 
have  an  interview  with  Madame  de  Laussan  to- 
morrow at  noon.  May  I  —  see  you,  after  ?  " 

Again  the  simple  "  yes  "  thrilled  his  ear. 

It  had  not  occurred  to  Noemie  to  ask  how  it 
had  come  about  that  Major  Grandchamps  had 
taken  again  into  his  favor  the  lately  detested 
wearer  of  the  United  States  Army  uniform,  or  by 
what  strange  chance  Allard  had  been  practicing 
the  gavotte  in  1'oncle  Grandchamps's  own  apart- 
ment, with  Jeanne  Berthet  for  a  teacher,  and 
Madame  Berthet  at  the  piano  !  It  did  not  occur 
to  her,  now,  to  wonder  why  Allard  should  be 
pledged  to  an  interview  with  Madame  de  Laussan 
on  the  morrow.  She  was  in  that  exalted  state  of 
mind  and  heart  when  miracles  are  accepted  with- 
out question.  The  only  thing  that  really  mattered 
was  the  fact  of  Allard's  presence. 

"  To-morrow !  at  last,  my  Noemie !  "  said  a 
low  voice  in  her  ear,  as  she  stood,  later,  in  a 
baignoire,  looking  at  the  brilliant  scene.  She 
turned  quickly  to  face  Cortland.  If  he  had  felt 
anger  or  jealousy  at  the  sight  of  Allard,  his 
manner  betrayed  neither.  He  smiled,  drawing 


244          THE  PKICE  OF  SILENCE 

her  hand  within  his  arm.  It  was  the  smile  which 
made  the  girl  shudder  without  knowing  why ; 
the  smile  that  drew  his  lips  away  from  his  teeth, 
when  his  eyelids  were  narrowed,  and  a  green- 
ish light  played  between  the  heavy  lashes. 

"  Come  to-morrow,  at  eleven  o'clock,"  she  said 
quietly,  withdrawing  her  hand  from  his  arm.  "  I 
wish  to  see  you  particularly.  No,  I  shall  not 
dance  any  more  to-night.  We  are  going  home 
immediately.  Good-night." 

She  was  turning  away.  The  band  was  playing 
very  softly  "  Pauv'  petti  Mam'selle  Zi-Zi,"  the 
ancient  Creole  chanson.  A  sudden  pang  of  pity 
moved  her  to  hold  out  the  hand  which  she  had 
taken  from  his  arm.  "  Good-night,"  she  repeated 
gently.  "  Good-by." 

"  Good-night.  To-morrow  !  "  he  whispered, 
openly  triumphant, 


XXV 

THE  RECKONING 

THE  next  morning,  at  the  appointed  hour, 
Cortland  found  Miss  Carrington  in  her  own 
boudoir ;  a  small,  daintily-furnished  room  sepa- 
rated from  the  library  by  heavy  portieres  only. 
She  arose  to  meet  him  as  he  entered.  He  could 
see  that  she  was  trembling,  though  he  could  not 
guess  that  it  was  from  the  terror  of  the  interview 
before  her,  or  that  the  words  which  she  had  re- 
hearsed over  and  over  again  within  herself  seemed 
fading  from  her  mind,  leaving  there  only  blank 
horror  of  himself. 

Cortland  mistook  her  emotion;  he  advanced 
with  arms  extended,  eyes  gleaming,  cheeks  pur- 
ple. "  Noemie !  At  last !  Mine  !  Mine !  " 

She  shrank  back.  "  Do  not  touch  me ! "  she  com- 
manded ;  "  how  dare  you  look  at  me  in  that  way ! 
In  any  way ! "  Her  eyes  blazed  anger  upon  him. 

"  Why,  what  do  you  mean  ?  "  he  stammered, 
genuinely  astonished. 


246  THE  PRICE  OF  SILENCE 

"  What  do  I  mean  !  Will  you  come  with  me  a 
moment  ?  "  She  swept  aside  the  curtains  and  led 
the  way  into  the  library.  "  Would  it  not  be  well, 
Mr.  Cortland,  for  you  to  take  your  property  ?  " 

She  flashed  a  contemptuous  glance  from  his 
amazed  face  to  the  sword  beneath  her  mother's 
portrait.  "  After  the  pains  you  took  to  get  the 
sword  properly  tricked  out,  rusted,  buried,  and 
dug  up  again,  it  is  surely  of  some  value  to  you. 
It  is,  as  you  may  imagine,  worthless  to  us." 

He  listened  at  first  with  an  uncomprehending 
frown,  but  before  she  had  finished,  his  brow 
cleared  ;  he  burst  into  a  loud,  relieved  laugh.  "  So 
that  is  what  has  provoked  you,  Noemie.  I  really 
don't  wonder  much.  How  ever  did  you  find  me 
out?  Good  joke,  wasn't  it !  Even  the  wonderful 
major  was  taken  in.  Gad,  when  I  think  of  that 
absurd  old  windbag,  I  am  ready  to  split ! "  He 
laughed  again  with  retrospective  enjoyment. 

"  It  may  be  a  good  joke  to  you,  Mr.  Cortland," 
said  Noemie,  half -bewildered  and  wholly  angered 
by  his  careless  acceptance  of  the  charge ;  "  but 
it  does  not  appeal  to  me.  Neither,  I  think,  will 
it  appeal  to  my  uncle  and  my  grandmother." 

He  stared  at  her,  incredulous. 


THE  RECKONING  247 

"  I  have  only  to  add  "  —  she  drew  herself  up 
haughtily  —  "  that  everything  —  everything  is 
at  an  end  between  us." 

"  You  do  not  mean  it,"  he  said  dully ;  "  you 
cannot  mean  it." 

"  I  do  mean  it !  " 

"By  God ! "  he  broke  in  roughly.  "  You  think 
you  can  play  fast  and  loose  with  me,  Miss  Noe- 
mie  Carrington !  Very  well,  I  will  show  you 
whether  you  can  or  not.  Our  engagement  will  be 
announced  this  day,  according  to  your  promise, 
or  I  will  know  the  reason  why.  The  engagement, 
and  the  date  of  the  wedding."  Again  the  coars- 
ened voice,  the  hardening  of  the  handsome  face 
into  brutality. 

"  I  will  tell  you  the  reason  why  now,"  returned 
Noemie  coolly.  "  The  reason  is  that  I  do  not  love 
you.  I  have  never  loved  you.  I  would  rather 
die  than  become  your  wife.  Is  that  clear?" 

"Yes,"  he  laughed  viciously;  "quite  clear, 
quite  convincing.  And  —  the  reason  for  your 
reason,  Miss  de  Laussan  Carrington,  is  not  far  to 
seek.  It  was  present  in  the  person  of  Captain 
Maxime  Allard  last  night  at  the  ball.  Am  I  cor- 
rect?" 


248  THE   PRICE  OF  SILENCE 

"  Yes.  You  are  correct,"  said  Noe'mie  boldly ; 
"  since  you  insist  upon  knowing,  quite  correct." 

This  confession  destroyed  the  last  remnant  of 
the  man's  self-control.  He  crossed  over  to  where 
she  stood  and  thrust  his  face  into  hers.  "  Allard, 
Maxime  Allard,"  he  sneered,  "the  acknowledged 
lover  of  a  common  dancing-girl.  The  coward 
who  ran  off  to  Europe  rather  than  face  the  scan- 
dal following  such  a  connection  !  " 

"  It  is  false !  "  interrupted  Noemie  hotly.  "  It 
was  you  —  you  who  started  that  falsehood.  I 
know  it  now,  though  not  from  him.  Besides,  I 
would  not  believe  you  against  him  though  you 
swore  a  thousand  oaths." 

"  You  love  him,  then,"  said  Cortland,  with 
sudden  and  unexpected  calm. 

"  Yes,  I  love  him  !  "  cried  the  girl,  carried  out 
of  herself  by  the  derision  in  his  eyes  and  on  his 
lips.  "  I  love  him  so  well,  that  — " 

The  words  died  in  her  throat.  Cortland  had 
caught  her  wrist  in  his  powerful  grasp. 

"  You !  You !  And  do  you  think  that  by 
throwing  me  over  you  can  get  Maxime  Allard, 
Captain  Maxime  Allard,  for  a  husband  ?  Well,  I 
tell  you,  you  are  mistaken,  my  fine  Mademoiselle 


THE  RECKONING  249 

de  Laussan  Carrington.  I  suppose  that  you  think 
that  you  know  who  you  are  ?  " 

Struggling  in  his  hold,  she  lifted  her  head 
proudly  and  opened  her  lips. 

"  You  think,"  he  went  on,  in  a  low,  concen- 
trated voice,  "  that  you  belong  to  the  blue  blood 
of  the  aristocracy,  hey?  Don't  you?  Well, 
maybe  you  've  got  the  blue  blood  in  you.  But  it 
has  n't  washed  out  the  black  blood.  It  never  can." 

"Let  me  go,  sir,"  cried  Noemie,  terrified. 
"What  do  you  mean?" 

"  Aha,  it 's  your  turn  to  want  to  know  what  / 
mean !  I  mean  that  you  may  trace  your  descent 
from  all  the  de  Laussans,  and  all  the  Destrehans, 
and  all  the  Carringtons,  you  can  scrape  together, 
but  all  the  same,  you  are  bound  to  trace  it  also 
from  Louis  Jasmin  (afterward  Verac),  free  man  of 
color,  and  Rosine  Rabut,  his  wife,  a  negro  slave. 
Ha !  Ha !  How  do  you  like  that,  mademoiselle?" 

He  released  her  wrist  so  suddenly  that  she 
staggered  back  and  would  have  fallen  but  for 
an  armchair  upon  which  she  leaned,  wide-eyed 
and  panting. 

"  It  is  false,  false,"  she  whispered ;  "  false  as 
you  are." 


250  THE  PRICE   OF  SILENCE 

"  Not  so  fast,  my  lady,"  —  he  relapsed  into  a 
cool,  off-hand,  conversational  tone.  "  You  can 
ask  Madame  de  Laussan.  She  knows.  So  does 
that  yellow  devil,  Sirene.  Perhaps  others.  So 
will  Maxime  Allard,  for  I  mean  to  find  him  at 
once  and  tell  him.  A  pretty  show  you'll  make 
with  any  white  man,  when  the  truth  comes  out." 

Noemie  had  lost  the  power  of  speech.  She 
continued  to  look  at  him,  horror  growing  in  her 
strained  eyes,  her  lips  pinching,  her  face  drawn 
and  ghastly  white. 

Cortland's  eyes  gloated  over  her  misery.  "  How 
do  I  know  this?"  he  continued,  as  if  she  had 
spoken.  "I  am  going  to  tell  you  how  I  know 
it." 

Facing  her,  where  one  year  before  he  had 
faced  Madame  de  Laussan,  he  told  the  story  as 
he  had  told  it  then,  dwelling  on  his  father's  part 
therein  with  savage  prolixity;  describing  the 
stolen  casket  and  its  contents ;  quoting  Gabrielle 
Verac's  letter  with  unctuous  deliberation,  rehears- 
ing his  first  and  later  interviews  with  Madame 
de  Laussan,  lingering  with  shameless  gratifica- 
tion on  the  uses  to  which  he  had  put  the  money 
extorted  from  the  terror-stricken  woman. 


THE  RECKONING  251 

"  Many  a  bunch  of  American  Beauties  you  got 
out  of  that  first  payment,"  he  laughed,  in  conclu- 
sion. "  Now  that  you  know  the  truth,  you  will 
doubtless  realize  that,  so  far  from  Miss  Carring- 
ton's  stooping  to  mix  her  blue  blood  with  that 
of  a  poor  white,  the  poor  white  was  going  down 
into  the  mud  to  pick  up  a  —  nigger !  " 

"  Oh !  "  The  smothered  shriek  was  like  the 
death  cry  of  a  wounded  animal.  It  sobered 
Cortland's  insane  rage. 

"  I  didn't  mean  that,"  he  hastened  to  say  in  a 
more  temperate  voice.  "I  do  love  you,  Noemie. 
I  swear  I  do.  I  was  driven  into  telling  you  the 
truth  by  your  treatment  of  me.  I  never  meant 
you  to  know.  Come.  I  '11  marry  you  to-morrow, 
and  no  one  else  shall  ever  know." 

"Go."  She  stood  up,  tall  and  straight,  fire 
flaming  her  eyes,  her  mouth  set  and  determined. 
"  Leave  the  house  this  instant,  or  I  will  have  you 
put  out  of  it." 

"Very  well,"  he  mocked,  turning  on  his  heel. 
"  Exit  Cortland,  with  a  certain  letter  in  his  pocket 
which  will  make  fine  reading  for  a  certain  cap- 
tain in  the  United  States  Army." 

"  Go  !  "  she  repeated  imperiously.    "Do  what- 


252  THE  PKICE   OF  SILENCE 

ever  you  like,  only  rid  this  house  of  your  pre- 
sence." 

He  walked  jauntily  to  the  door,  as  he  had  done 
on  former  occasions.  But  once  outside,  he  paused 
as  before  to  wipe  the  perspiration  from  his  fore- 
head. "  D — n  fool  you  've  made  of  yourself 
again,  Sid  Cortland,"  he  muttered;  "why  must 
I  show  my  cards  whenever  I  get  into  that  con- 
founded library?  Gad,  but  the  little  Spitfire  was 
pretty  as  a  picture  !  Blaze  away,  my  beauty,  if  it 
does  you  any  good.  You  '11  sing  another  tune 
after  you  have  seen  that  precious  grandmother 
of  yours !  Eh,  what  ?  " 

A  man-servant  had  approached,  unheard,  and 
was  standing  in  a  respectful  attitude  before  him. 
"  Madame  de  Laussan,"  he  repeated,  "  begs  mon- 
sieur to  come  for  a  moment  to  her  sitting-room 
before  leaving." 

Cortland  followed  him  up  the  stair,  a  fatuous 
smile  dawning  into  his  face.  "I  can  manage 
Grandmamma  fast  enough,"  he  boasted  to  him- 
self; "and  Grandmamma  must  manage  Spitfire, 
or  it  will  go  hard  with  'em  both.  Sidney,  my 
boy,  the  game  is  yours." 

Madame  de  Laussan  was  half  reclining  in  a 


THE   RECKONING  253 

chaise-lounge  drawn  up  by  an  open  fire.  She  was 
carefully  dressed,  and  there  was  something  in 
her  appearance  which  arrested  Cortland  on  the 
threshold.  She  seemed  by  some  miracle  to  have 
regained,  if  not  her  physical,  at  least  her  spiritual 
strength ;  her  dark  eyes  looked  out  from  their 
deep  sockets  with  their  old-time  brilliancy ;  her 
wasted  cheeks  had  taken  on  a  tinge  of  color. 
She  was  not  alone ;  Sirene,  as  usual,  was  stationed 
at  her  elbow ;  Major  Grandchamps  sat,  well-' 
groomed,  elegant,  in  correct  morning  costume, 
beside  her;  Captain  Allard  stood  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  fireplace,  leaning  against  the  mantel. 

Cortland  flushed  a  little  upon  perceiving  the 
two  men,  but  returned  their  formal  greeting  with 
a  careless  nod.  He  approached  Madame  de 
Laussan  with  an  insinuating,  deferential  smile, 
but  Major  Grandchamps,  who  had  arisen,  lifted  a 
detaining  hand.  "  One  moment,  if  you  please, 
Mr.  Cortland." 

"I  believe,"  said  Cortland  quietly,  "that 
Madame  de  Laussan  has  done  me  the  honor  to 
send  for  me." 

"  She  has,"  returned  Major  Grandchamps.  "  It 
is  for  her,  and  in  her  name  that  I  speak  when  I 


254  THE  PRICE  OF  SILENCE 

desire  you  to  listen  to  the  reading  of  a  letter, 
whose  contents,  however,  are  already  familiar  to 
you.  Maxime  —  " 

Allard  made  a  step  or  two  forward,  and  placed 
in  the  hand  of  the  older  man  a  yellowed  document 
with  crumbled  seal.  Major  Grandchamps  unfolded 
it  with  deliberation.  "  This  letter  —  "  he  began. 

"  Ah ! "  ejaculated  Cortland,  taken  aback ;  but, 
his  effrontery  returning,  "So!"  he  sneered,  "the 
stolen  letter  !  Captain  Maxime  Allard,  then,  was 
the  thief ! " 

"  A  hard  term,  Mr.  Cortland,"  smiled  Allard ; 
"  though  I  confess  I  should  not  have  hesitated 
to  take  the  letter  by  force  or  by  strategy,  had  it 
been  necessary.  As  it  was,  I  merely  picked  it  up 
from  the  sidewalk,  where  you  left  it  lying,  on  a 
certain  night  not  over-long  ago,  after  having 
verified  in  yourself  the  adage  in  vino  veritas. 
Possibly  you  may  remember  ?  " 

Cortland's  ready  tongue  for  once  failed  him  ; 
he  remained  sullenly  silent.  Major  Grandchamps 
turned  to  his  kinswoman.  "  You  will  pardon  me, 
my  dear  Laure,"  he  said,  "  if  once  more  I  awaken 
unhappy  memories  by  reading  the  letter  of  Ma- 
dame Armand  de  Laussan  ?  It  is  necessary." 


THE  RECKONING  255 

He  read  the  letter  written  by  Gabrielle  Verac 
on  the  eve  of  her  flight  slowly  and  carefully  to 
the  end,  then,  striking  a  match,  he  held  the  thin 
pages  over  the  flame  and  watched  them  shrivel 
and  curl  into  a  bluish  ash,  which  hovered  for  a 
moment  in  the  air  and  floated  slowly  to  the  floor. 

Cortland's  eyes  followed  the  zigzag  fall.  "It  is 
easy  enough  to  destroy  a  stolen  letter  —  a  twice- 
stolen  letter,  if  you  will !  "  —  he  bowed  in  mock 
deference,  —  "  but  even  Major  Grandchamps  has 
not  the  power  to  destroy  facts." 

"For  example?" 

"  For  example,  the  fact  that  Louis  Jasmin,  the 
father  of  Madame  Armand  de  Laussan  —  you 
will  observe,  gentlemen,  that  I  have  the  family 
history  at  my  finger-ends  —  was  a  free  man  of 
color,  as  they  said  in  his  day ;  and  that  Rosine 
Rabut,  her  mother,  was  not  only  a  negress,  but 
an  ex-slave." 

"  We  have  no  intention,  Mr.  Cortland,"  said 
the  major,  with  suave  courtesy,  "  of  denying  any 
fact  or  facts  in  the  case.  You  have  stated,  with 
absolute  accuracy,  the  condition  of  Louis  Jasmin 
—  afterward  Verac  —  and  of  Rosine  Rabut,  his 
wife." 


256  THE  PRICE  OF  SILENCE 

"Ah!  then—" 

"  Wait  a  moment.  But  a  fact  of  which  you 
perhaps  are  unaware  is  that  Madame  Armand  de 
Laussan  was  the  adopted  daughter  only  of  Louis 
Jasmin,  afterward  Verac,  and  of  his  wife,  Rosine 
Rabut." 

Cortland  laughed  incredulously.  "A  very  pretty 
story,  major,"  he  said;  "a  romantic  story,  in- 
deed." 

"You  will  retract  the  insinuation  which  your 
words  and  your  tones  hint  at,  sir,  or  you  will 
fight,"  cried  the  major,  on  fire  at  once. 

"  I  think,"  interposed  Allard  quietly,  "  that 
Mr.  Cortland  will  gladly  retract  the  implied  in- 
sult when  he  has  examined  these  attested  papers, 
which  I  myself  obtained  in  France,  and  whose 
genuineness  he  will  do  well  not  to  question." 

"  I  acknowledge  myself  convinced,  gentle- 
men," said  Cortland,  after  a  close  scrutiny  of  the 
papers  thrust  in  his  hand.  He  tossed  them  upon 
the  table.  "  And  now  —  " 

"  And  now,"  roared  Major  Grandchamps,  ex- 
asperated to  the  last  degree  by  the  man's  insolent 
coolness,  "  and  now,  I  am  quite  aware,  sir,  that 
you  would  not  scruple  to  break  any  promise  you 


THE  RECKONING  257 

might  make.  Therefore  I  exact  none.  But  I 
warn  you  that  if  you  ever  dare  whisper  a  syllable 
of  the  —  the  atrocious  misunderstanding  which 
has  hung  over  this  house  for  so  long,  I  will  hunt 
you  to  the  ends  of  the  earth  to  kill  you  !  As  for 
the  money  you  so  shamelessly  wrung  from  my 
cousin  —  " 

"  Leon  ! "  breathed  Madame  de  Laussan. 

"  Keep  it,  and  be  hanged  to  you,  sir !  But, 
again  I  warn  you !  neither  the  name  of  my 
cousin,  Madame  de  Laussan,  nor  that  of  my  ward 
— "  Choked  with  passion,  the  old  man  finished 
the  sentence  with  a  threatening  glare. 

Cortland  had  remained  looking  at  him  as  if  he 
had  heard  nothing.  He  turned  with  a  not  un- 
graceful inclination  of  the  head  to  Madame  de 
Laussan. 

"  If  you  will  permit  me,  madame,"  he  said,  "  I 
will  take  my  leave.  I  am  called  to  San  Francisco 
—  on  business,  and  shall  take  the  earliest  train 
possible  out  of  this  city,  which,  by  the  way, 
madame,  for  certain  reasons,  is  forever  blotted  — 
with  all  its  people  and  things  —  out  of  existence 
for  me.  I  fear  I  may  not  have  the  pleasure  of 
seeing  you  again  ;  will  you  have  the  goodness  to 


258  THE   PRICE  OF  SILENCE 

convey  my  farewell  —  and  my  congratulations  — 
to  Mademoiselle  Noe —  " 

The  opening  phrases  of  this  allocution  rang 
hollow  and  insincere,  sounding  like  a  stilted  imi- 
tation of  some  stage  speech,  but  in  the  last  words 
his  voice  broke ;  that  best  which  is  in  every 
man  appeared  for  a  brief  second  and  looked 
out  of  his  eyes ;  he  turned  away  leaving  the 
name  unsaid. 

Major  Grandchamps  found  himself  suddenly 
and  inexplicably  moved;  he  followed  his  fallen 
foe  to  the  door.  "  Mr.  Cortland,"  he  said  in  a 
low  voice,  "  I  understand  that  you  are  for  the 
moment  financially  embarrassed.  Will  you  allow 
me  to  offer  you  a  check  ?  " 

"  D — n  you  and  your  money !  "  snarled 
Cortland.  He  walked  away  without  a  backward 
glance. 

"  Poor  devil !  "  said  Allard  thoughtfully. 

Madame  de  Laussan's  eyes  were  closed,  her  lips 
moved  in  an  unspoken  prayer  of  thanksgiving. 

A  hush  fell  upon  the  room.  Sirene,  unob- 
served, drew  from  her  sleeve  an  unsheathed 
poniard  and  slipped  it  into  her  stocking.  "  The 
gri-gri  has  worked  without  it,"  she  muttered. 


SIRENE 


THE  RECKONING  259 

"  All  the  same,  his  bones  will  rot,  and  his  mar- 
row will  burn,  and  he  will  twist  in  his  bed  in  the 
midnight  and  pray  to  die." 

She  exchanged  a  long  look  with  her  mistress, 
whose  eyes,  unclosed,  plunged  themselves  into 
hers. 

"  Poor  Gabrielle  !  Gabrielle  la  belle  !  Gabrielle 
la  malheureuse  !  "  The  words  exhaled  like  a  sigh 
from  Major  Grandchamps's  unconscious  lips  ;  his 
old  eyes  were  moist. 

"  Noemie !  she  need  never  know  of  this  ter- 
rible shadow  which  seemed  to  menace  her  life?" 
said  Allard. 

"  Oh,  no !  Never  !  "  cried  Major  Grandchamps 
and  Madame  de  Laussan  in  a  breath. 

"  I  wish  it  had  not  been  he  who  found  the 
sword,"  said  the  latter.  "  However,  one  must  not 
ask  for  the  earth,  I  suppose,  Leon."  She  stood  up, 
smoothing  down  her  laces  after  her  old  fashion. 
"  You  and  Maxime  will  come  to-night  to  dinner, 
also  Jeanne  Berthet  and  her  mother,  and  Felix, 
the  scamp  !  And  Monsieur  Paturin,  who  will 
scold,  of  course,  when  he  is  told  about  that  wasted 
seven  thousand  and  odd  dollars  !  And  Frances 
Heron.  And  Tom  Masters,  of  course,  and  Don- 


260  THE  PRICE  OF  SILENCE 

aid  Strang.  Please  see  that  they  are  all 
asked.  Sirene,  you  will  go  at  once  and  say  to 
Mademoiselle  Noemie  that  Captain  Allard  is 
awaiting  her  in  her  boudoir.  Now  I  shall  go 
to  sleep  until  you  and  Noemie  come  to  ask  my 
blessing,  Allard,  my  boy.  For  all  is  well  at  last, 
n'est-ce  pas,  Leon  ?  " 


XXVI 

LE  SOIB 

note  which  Sirene  handed  to  Major 
J-  Grandchamps,  waiting  below  with  Allard, 
was  sealed  and  addressed  to  Madame  de  Laus- 
san. 

"  She  is  not  in  her  room,  Mam'selle  Noemie," 
whispered  Sirene,  with  ashen  lips ;  "  I  think  she 
has  gone  away,  I  do  not  know  why  —  " 

Major  Grandchamps  made  no  scruple  about 
tearing  open  the  note  ;  his  hand  shook  as  he  read 
it  aloud. 

"  Dear,  dear  grandmother,"  it  ran ;  "  he  has 
told  me  the  terrible,  terrible  truth.  How  you 
have  suffered  for  me  —  and  for  my  mother !  It 
will  be  harder  yet  for  you  when  every  one 
knows;  for  he  has  said  that  every  one  shall  know 
at  once.  It  will  be  far  better  for  you,  ma  mbre, 
and  perhaps  for  me,  if  I  go  away.  I  am  going 
away.  But  have  no  fear  for  me,  dear  mother ;  I 
will  know  how  to  be  brave  —  have  you  not  taught 


262  THE  PRICE   OF  SILENCE 

me  yourself  how  to  be  brave  ?  I  love  you  so !  I 
love  you  so!  Only  I  cannot  — "  Here  a  whole 
line  had  been  carefully  erased,  and  the  note  ended 
abruptly.  "  Your  bebe,  Noemie." 

"  He  has  told  her,  the  scoundrel ! "  shouted 
Major  Grandchamps.  "  He  has  told  her,  the 
black-hearted  villain  !  I  will  kill  him  ;  he  shall 
not  leave  this  town  alive.  My  poor  little  Noemie ! 
Oh,  I  will  kill  him!" 

Allard  laid  a  calming  hand  on  his  arm ;  his 
own  face  was  white  and  stern.  "  Let  him  wait, 
the  hound!  "  he  said;  "we  must  find  her  first  — 
Noemie !  God !  what  may  not  have  happened 
already ! " 

"  It  is  not  that,  'Sieur  Maxime,  not  that ! " 
Sirene  saw  his  agitated  glance  in  the  direction  of 
the  river,  and  divined  his  thought.  "  She  would 
never  leave  us  in  that  way,  my  bebe.  She  would 
never  give  a  sorrow  like  that  to  the  Little  Mis- 
tress." 

"Then  where  —  "  began  Allard. 

"  To  the  Convent  of  the  Ursulines.  I  am  sure 
of  it.  It  was  there  that  Mam'selle  Noemie  was  at 
.school,  and  Mam'selle  Mathilde,  her  mother." 

Relief  was  expressed  in  the  features  of  both  men. 


LE  SOIR  268 

"  You  are  right,  quite  right,  Sirene.  You 
will  say  not  a  word  to  your  mistress  —  " 

"  'Tite  Maitresse  has  not  slept  for  many  nights. 
She  will  sleep  like  an  angel  all  the  afternoon," 
interrupted  the  mulattress  confidently. 

"  Very  well.  See  to  it  that  not  a  breath  of  all 
this  reaches  any  one  in  the  house,"  said  Major 
Grandchamps;  "we  will  drive  down  to  the  Ursu- 
lines  at  once,  Maxime.  I  will  call  a  carriage. 
Meantime  do  you  write  or  telephone  those  dinner 
invitations.  Not  a  word ;  it  must  be  done.  For, 
of  course,  Noemie  will  be  here  long  before  the 
hour.  I  will  be  back  immediately.  It  is  now  one 
o'clock,"  —  he  consulted  his  watch,  —  "  by  three, 
at  the  latest,  we  shall  be  here  again." 

But  Noemie  had  not  gone  to  the  convent  of 
the  Ursulines.  The  return  drive  seemed  intermin- 
able to  both  men. 

"You  wished  to  speak  yesterday,  Maxime," 
said  the  old  major  from  time  to  time,  forgetting 
that  he  had  said  the  same  thing  before ;  "  and  I 
urged  you  to  wait." 

"Do  not  reproach  yourself,  dear  friend,"  Al- 
lard  would  reply;  "  I  am  equally  to  blame.  Was 
it  not  I,  even  more  than  yourself,  who  planned  to 


264  THE  PRICE  OF  SILENCE 

surprise  her  with  an  unexpected  partner  for  the 
gavotte?  Besides,  we  are  uselessly  anxious.  She 
will  have  gone  back  home  long  ago.  The  dove 
will  return  to  its  nest." 

"  She  may  have  gone  into  the  cathedral,"  Al- 
lard  suggested  later.  The  carriage  was  rolling 
swiftly  up  Royal  Street ;  he  called  to  the  coach- 
man to  stop,  and,  descending,  hurried  with  beat- 
ing heart  into  the  darkening  church.  There  were 
several  kneeling  figures  about  the  aisles  and  be- 
fore the  altars,  but  Noemie  was  not  among  them. 
His  foot  was  on  the  step  of  the  carriage  again, 
when  a  small,  familiar  figure,  hunched  up  on  the 
opposite  banquette,  caught  his  eye.  He  crossed 
the  street.  "  What  are  you  doing  here,  Old 
Babe?"  he  demanded,  looking  down  at  her. 

"Nuttin'  't  all,  Mars  Max-eera,"  Old  Babe  re- 
plied stolidly ;  "  thes  a-watchin'  dem  angels  in 
de  winder  yander.  I  ain'  up  to  no  mis-cheef,  fo' 
Gawd,  I  ain'." 

"  What  are  you  doing  here?  "  repeated  Allard 
sternly. 

"Yas,  Marse  Max-eem,  I  ain'  gwine  tell  no 
lies."  She  stood  up,  stretching  her  skinny  arms 
above  her  head.  "  I  'ze  all  crump-up.  Lawd,  I 


LE   SOIR  265 

been  squattin'  heah  'bout  ten  hours.  Yas,  Marse 
Max-eera,  I  gwine  tell  you."  She  looked  about 
apprehensively,  then  tiptoed,  laying  a  black  paw 
on  his  wrist,  and  whispered,  "  She  '«  eroun'  yan- 
der,  in  de  nigger  convent." 

"Who?"  asked  Allard,  frowning. 

"  Miss  No-raee." 

"  Good  God !  "  cried  the  young  man,  falling 
back  in  amazement.  Seizing  the  child's  shoulder, 
he  ran  her  across  the  street,  thrust  her  bodily 
into  the  carriage,  and  sprang  in  after  her.  "  Now 
then,  Old  Babe,"  he  said,  quivering  with  impa- 
tience, but  striving  to  speak  calmly,  "tell  the 
major  here,  and  me,  what  you  know  about  Miss 
Noemie." 

The  major  had  hardly  the  time  to  look  puzzled. 
Old  Babe  screwed  up  her  face  and  peered  doubt- 
fully into  one  confronting  face,  then  the  other. 

"  You  ain'  gwine  ter  let  daddy  lick  me,  is  yer  ? 
Well,  den,  I  wuz  thes  quoiled-up — lak  I  wuz  when 
I  seed  dat  piz'n  white  man  onwrop  dat  swode ; 
you  know,  Marse  Max-eem  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  Old  Babe,"  said  Allard,  without 
the  least  idea  of  what  she  meant.  "But  Miss 
Noe'mie ?  Go  on,  go  on" 


266  THE  PRICE  OF  SILENCE 

"  Yas-sir.  I  wuz  thes  quoiled  up  dis  mawnin' 
in  de  libary,  hine  de  sofy,  lak  I  wuz  dat  time  I 
seed  dat  piz'n  white  man  onwrop  dat  swode — " 

"  If  you  don't  tell  me  what  you  know  about 
Miss  Noemie,  Old  Babe,  I  '11  break  every  bone  in 
your  good-for-nothing  body !  "  interjected  Major 
Grandchamps. 

"  Yas,  ole  marse.  I  gwine  ter  tell  you.  I  wuz 
thes  quoiled  up  —  " 

It  took  Old  Babe  some  time  to  tell  her  story, 
there  being  no  possibility  of  hurrying  her,  though 
her  frightened  eyes  rolled  wildly  at  the  major's 
dire  threats.  Stripped  of  superfluities,  the  thread 
of  it  was  clear  and  dramatic. 

Coiled  up  behind  the  sofa  in  the  library  (for 
what  purpose  Old  Babe  did  not  vouchsafe  to  say), 
she  had  been  an  eye-  and  ear-witness  of  Cortland's 
interview  with  Noemie  Carrington.  She  brought 
the  scene  so  vividly  before  the  eyes  of  her  lis- 
teners that  when  she  came  to  the  point  where 
Cortland  had  caught  the  girl's  wrist,  "an'  shak 
her,  fo'  Gawd,  he  shuk  her  ! "  inarticulate  cries 
of  rage  filled  the  carriage. 

"  An'  dat  low-down  piz'n  Mist'  Cotelan'  had 
de  insw'ance  to  tell  Miss  No-mee  dat  she  wuz  a 


LE  SOIR  267 

nigger"  continued  Old  Babe.  "  He  skeered  her 
ontwel  seem-lak  she  gwine  ter  drap  down  dead. 
But  Gawd-a'mighty,  first  thing  you  knows  she 
riz  up  high  ez  de  roof,  an'  tole  dat  piz'n-mouf 
liar  ter  cl'ar  out.  An'  he  thes  sneak  out  lak  a 
puppy  wid  his  tail  a-tween  his  laigs." 

Old  Babe  had  crept  up  the  stair  after  her  young 
mistress,  "  quoiling  "  behind  a  table  in  the  upper 
hall,  and  when  Noemie  reappeared,  veiled,  and 
shrouded  in  a  long  cloak,  she  had  followed  her 
stealthily  out  of  the  house  and  along  the  streets, 
until  the  door  of  the  Convent  of  the  Holy  Family 
in  Rue  d'Orleans  had  opened  to  receive  the  fugi- 
tive. "  I  thes  been  settin'  yander  a-waitin',"  con- 
cluded Old  Babe;  "  caze  I  dunno  what  devilment 
dem  fool  nigger-women  inside  dat  do'  mought 
do  to  Miss  No-raee.  Dey  mought  tek  it  inter  dey 
fool  heads  dat  she  wuz — what  Mist'  Cotelan'  call 
her  —  an'  dey  mought  mek  her  work.  I  wan't 
gwine  to  go  home  ontwel  I  knowed  how  dem 
niggers  wuz  treatin'  Miss  No-raee.  You  am* 
gwine  ter  scold  Miss  No-raee  fer  runnin'  away,  is 
you,  ole  marse  ?  "  she  queried  anxiously. 

"  Don't  worry,  Old  Babe,"  groaned  Allard,  for 
the  old  major  was  incapable  of  speech.  "  We  are 


268  THE   PRICE   OF  SILENCE 

going  to  take  Miss  Noe'mie  home.  That 's  all. 
You  are  a  good  girl,  Old  Babe,"  he  added,  as 
Noemie  had  done. 

"  Miss  No-mee  ain'  no  —  ?  " 

"  No,  no.   Hush  ! "  cried  Allard. 

Major  Grandchamps  and  the  officer  walked 
along  Rue  d' Orleans,  leaving  Old  Babe  to  peer 
wistfully  from  the  carriage-window,  and  stopped 
before  the  closed  door  of  the  Convent  of  the 
Holy  Family. 

This  rambling,  two-storied,  red-stuccoed  build- 
ing, surmounted  to-day  by  a  cross,  has  a  history 
all  its  own.  During  the  first  half  of  the  nine- 
teenth century  it  was  the  ballroom  of  the  The'- 
atre  de  1'Opera,  which  stood  on  the  corner  of  Rue 
Bourbon  and  Rue  d'Orleans.  Along  the  tesselated 
marble  of  its  entrance  hall,  and  up  and  down  the 
graceful  stair,  passed  the  elegant  figures  —  men 
and  women  of  the  haute  societe —  of  the  ancien 
regime;  light  feet,  long  since  stilled,  skimmed 
the  polished  floors ;  the  gay  murmur  of  voices, 
long  ceased,  mingled  with  the  strains  of  forgotten 
melodies  that  beat  the  perfumed  air.  Later,  when 
the  old  theatre  was  laid  in  ashes,  and  the  opera 
had  passed  to  its  stately  home  in  Rue  Bourbon, 


LE   SOIR  269 

the  place  became  the  scene  of  those  orgies  known 
as  the  cordon-bleu  balls,  where  soft-eyed  quad- 
roon and  octoroon  women  smiled  with  seductive 
sweetness  upon  high-born  gallants, — smiles  often 
as  dangerous  as  seductive,  which  lighted  the 
pathway  through  a  dewy  dawn  to  that  old  duel- 
ing-ground below  the  city,  or  the  shorter  route 
to  the  briar-grown  square  behind  the  Cathedral 
St.  Louis,  where  pistols  spoke,  or  cold  steel 
flashed  a  finale  to  the  dancing!  To-day  the 
building  shelters  the  colored  nuns  of  the  Holy 
Family,  the  only  order  of  colored  nuns  in  the 
United  States ;  an  imposing  chapel  occupies  the 
corner  where  the  Theatre  de  I'OpeVa  Francois 
once  stood.  White-veiled  novices  and  black-veiled 
sisters,  running  the  gamut  of  color  from  coal- 
black  to  soft,  cloud-like  white,  glide  noiselessly 
about  the  old  corridors  and  the  old  ballroom ; 
peace  broods  where  passion  once  ran  riot ;  pray- 
ers, rising  like  a  fountain,  night  and  day,  sweep 
the  air  clean  of  the  graceful  badinage  of  the 
ancien  regime,  and  send  atonement  aloft  for  the 
ribald  jest  and  the  voluptuous  innuendo  of  the 
nights  of  the  cordon-bleu. 

Noemie  Carrington,  on  her  knees  in  the  quiet 


270  THE  PRICE  OF  SILENCE 

chapel,  had  ceased  to  pray  ;  body  and  soul  were 
alike  benumbed ;  the  strained  nerves  had  reached 
that  point  beyond  which  response  to  emotion  is 
no  longer  possible. 

For  hours,  since  stumbling  blindly  up  the 
aisle  to  fall  prone  before  the  altar,  she  had 
wandered  through  a  chaos  strewn  with  the  crum- 
bling remains  of  all  that  had  made  up  life  for  her, 
her  lips  mechanically  framing  prayers  for  mercy, 
for  help,  for  strength;  her  heart  bursting  with 
anguish,  with  the  exaggerated  fancy  of  youth, 
she  lived  through  coming  eternities  of  shame 
and  mortification.  She  saw  herself,  writhing  like 
one  torn  limb  from  limb,  branded  as  a  thief, 
pilloried  as  an  impostor.  She  heard  her  name 
whispered,  pityingly  perhaps,  in  drawing-rooms, 
shrieked  by  newsboys  about  the  streets,  bandied 
from  tongue  to  tongue  through  shop  and  market- 
place. Again  and  again  she  had  beaten  back 
the  temptation  of  the  river.  "  I  will  not,  for  my 
grandmother's  sake;  she  has  suffered  enough. 
Oh,  I  will  not !  "  With  equal  strength  she  had 
thrust  away  the  thought  of  Maxime  Allard.  "  By 
now,  Tie  knows."  She  had  allowed  herself  but 
this  one  pathetic  whisper,  and  turned  away  as 


LE  SOIR  271 

a  drowning  man  might  withhold  his  hand  from 
a  spar  within  his  reach.  But  the  storm  had  at 
last  spent  itself.  She  continued  to  kneel,  rigid, 
motionless,  staring,  with  eyes  that  saw  nothing, 
at  the  White  Virgin,  who  seemed  to  float  in  the 
dusky  air  above  her  head. 

A  hand  fell  softly  upon  her  shoulder.  "  Come, 
my  child,"  the  Reverend  Mother  said,  assisting 
her  to  her  feet,  and  guiding  her  gently  through 
the  chapel  and  out  upon  the  railed  gallery  in  the 
rear.  The  girl's  cramped  limbs  hardly  sustained 
her  weight ;  she  leaned  like  a  helpless  child 
against  the  strong,  supporting  arm.  "  Poor  little 
one  !  "  The  kindly  black  face  smiled  down  into 
hers ;  she  responded  with  a  dazed  uplift  of  heavy 
eyes. 

From  the  prim  garden  below,  lying  in  the 
mellow  glow  of  the  setting  sun,  arose  the  rich 
perfume  of  honeysuckle  and  sweet-olive ;  the 
Spanish  Daggers  lifted  their  unseasonable  cones 
of  white  bells ;  an  orange  tree  in  a  big  tub  had 
adventured  an  out-of-time  blossoming  which 
showed  between  the  thick,  clustering,  green  leaves. 
In  the  court  the  orphans  and  the  half-orphans 
cared  for  by  the  Holy  Family  were  at  play.  Their 


272  THE   PRICE  OF  SILENCE 

plaintive  voices  bent  in  a  danse  ronde  came  float- 
ing up :  — 

A  insi  font,  font,  font, 
Les  petites  marionettes. 

"They  are  —  singing — down  there,"  Noemie 
said  wonderingly.  How  indeed  could  any  one  have 
the  heart  to  sing  ?  She  laid  her  hand  on  the  rail ; 
a  little  black  spider  scuttled  across  it  and  swung 
himself  on  a  filmy  rope  down  toward  the  garden. 

"  Yes.  They  sing,  mon  enfant,  because  they 
are  happy,"  said  the  Mother. 

"  I  shall  never  sing  again,"  thought  Noe'mie. 

Madame  Mere  placed  her  in  a  chair  near  an 
open  window  of  the  shadow-filled  reception  room, 
and,  dislodging  from  the  piano  stool  a  small, 
chocolate-colored  half-orphan,  who  was  dolor- 
ously pounding  the  yellowed  keys,  she  retired, 
shoving  the  giggling  musician  before  her. 

Noemie  closed  her  eyes  and  leaned  her  head 
upon  the  window  sill.  "  Now,"  she  thought  con- 
fusedly, "  they  will  bring  me  a  white  veil,  perhaps, 
and  put  it  on  my  head.  And  I  will  be  one  of 
them  —  I  am  one  of  them !  By  birth,  I  am  one 
of  them  !  " 

"  Noe'mie !  "   She  sprang  to  her  feet  with  a 


LE  SOIR  273 

hoarse  cry.  At  sight  of  Allard,  standing  in  front 
of  her,  she  shrank  back,  warding  him  away  with 
pleading,  outstretched  hands.  "  Oh,  why  have 
you  come  !  "  she  moaned. 

"  I  have  come,  Noemie," —  Allard  caught  her 
ice-cold  hands  in  his  and  held  them  fast,  — 
"  I  come  because  I  love  you ;  I  come  to  take  you 
home,  Noemie,  ma  bien  aimee" 

"  Then  —  he  has  not  told  ?  You  —  you  do 
not  know,"  —  she  wrenched  her  hands  from  his 
grasp,  —  "you  have  not  heard  that  I  am  —  " 

"  Noemie  !  "  he  cried  sternly,  "  do  not  say  it. 
I  forbid  you.  It  is  not  true." 

"  —  colored,"  she  gasped,  sinking,  half-faint- 
ing, in  her  chair.  "  Do  not  touch  me,"  —  she 
started  again  to  her  feet,  her  voice  rising  to  a 
shriek,  —  "  do  you  not  hear  ?  /  am  colored  !  " 

"  Noemie,"  —  Major  Grandchamps  advanced 
from  the  shadow  where  he  had  been  standing,  — 
"  listen,  my  child.  It  is  all  a  mistake.  A  cruel, 
cruel  mistake.  Maxime  will  tell  you." 

His  words  fell  upon  such  bewildered  senses 
that  Maxime  had  to  repeat  several  times  the  story 
of  Gabrielle  Dupont's  birth  and  adoption  before 
the  poor  child  could  comprehend  its  meaning,  or 


274  THE  PRICE  OF  SILENCE 

its  relation  to  herself.  "  So  you  see,  my  beloved," 
he  said  at  last,  "  that  —  " 

"I  am  white?"  she  interrupted,  her  large, 
imploring  eyes  fixed  upon  his.  "  I  am  really  — 
white  f  All  white  ?  " 

"  White  as  the  whitest  angel  in  heaven,"  he 
reiterated,  stroking  her  hand  tenderly. 

The  tears  welled  from  her  eyes,  and  rolled 
unchecked  down  her  pale  cheeks. 

"  Oh,  I  thank  God  for  my  dear  grandmother," 
she  sobbed. 

"  My  Noemie,"  breathed  Allard. 

"  And  for  you,  Maxime." 

"Mademoiselle  Carrington,"  said  Major  Grand- 
champs,  after  a  silence,  "  there  is  one  thing  which 
I  have  forgotten  to  tell  you,  and  that  is,  that 
Captain  Maxime  Allard  of  the  United  States 
Army,  the  son  of  my  old  comrade,  Colonel  Fer- 
nand  Allard,  did  my  family  the  honor  to  ask 
for  the  hand  of  my  ward,  Mademoiselle  de  Laus- 
san  Carrington,  before  he  went  to  France,  and 
while  still  under  the  impression  that  Madame 
Armand  de  Laussan  was,  or  might  prove  to  be, 
the  daughter  of  Louis  Jasmin." 

"Before—?" 


LE  SOIR  275 

"  Before  he  knew  the  truth  about  you,  Noemie, 
my  cherished." 

"  Maxime  !  "  The  pride  and  joy  winging  the 
cry  upward  made  it  almost  heart-breaking. 

Major  Grandchamps  turned  away,  wiping  his 
dimmed  eyes.  Noemie  had  leaped  to  Maxime's 
breast ;  his  arms  were  about  her ;  his  wet  cheek 
caressed  hers. 

"  She  is  simply  wonderful !  "  remarked  Strang, 
surveying  Madame  de  Laussan  from  his  end  of 
the  table  that  night.  And  truly  no  epithet  short 
of  this  could  fitly  describe  the  silver-haired  host- 
ess presiding  over  the  betrothal  dinner  of  No- 
emie Carrington  and  Maxime  Allard.  The  very 
memory  of  the  long  and  anguished  months,  which 
had  appeared  to  suck  the  vitality  slowly,  cruelly, 
from  the  slender  frame,  and  to  exhaust  the 
strength  of  that  indomitable  spirit,  was  wiped  out 
as  if  by  magic,  leaving  the  grande  dame  more 
grande  dame  than  ever.  She  wore  the  de  Laus- 
san tiara  in  her  hair;  the  rare  laces  which 
adorned  her  trailing  velvet  robe  sparkled  with 
rarer,  long-unseen  jewels,  drawn  from  the  inex- 
haustible treasures  of  the  de  Laussan  vault; 


276  THE  PRICE  OF  SILENCE 

even  these,  Colonel  Fernand  Allard  (late  of  the 
Confederate  States  Army)  remarked,  with  old- 
fashioned  gallantry,  were  lustreless  beside  the 
dewy  shining  of  her  beautiful  dark  eyes.  "  She 
is  a  reincarnation  of  those  fabled  women  of  old, 
whose  charm  (declare  the  ancient  chronicles) 
dothe  but  increase  with  ye  passinge  of  ye 
yeares"  added  Strang.  "  May  she  live  forever ! " 

And  this  present  chronicler  desires  to  echo 
the  wish.  May  she  live  forever !  For  never  was 
anything,  surely,  so  gracious-womanly  as  this 
"  Old  Moon  wi'  the  Young  Moon  (Noemie's  first- 
born) in  her  arme  !  " 

The  dinner  had  progressed  joyously. 

"  As  like  Miss  Carrington's  debut  dinner  of  a 
year  ago  as  one  of  these  roses  is  to  another,"  Mas- 
ters observed  to  Jeanne  Berth et,  sitting  beside 
him ;  "  minus  the  Intruder  "  (meaning  Cortland). 
"  The  fellow  has  gone,  by  the  way.  I  saw  him 
board  the  west-bound  train  an  hour  ago,  scowl- 
ing impressively  as  usual." 

"  Gone !  The  Finder  of  the  Sword ! "  mocked 
Frances  Heron.  "  Did  he  take  the  sword  with 
him,  a  sort  of  consolation  prize,  seeing  that  the 
real  guerdon  has  fallen,  somehow,  to  another?" 


LE  SOIR  277 

"  Mr.  Cortland  has  turned  out  to  be  not  the 
Finder  of  the  Sword,"  Jeanne  announced,  with 
an  air  of  importance ;  "we  —  the  family —  have 
just  been  informed." 

And  whisperingly,  cautiously,  the  curious  epi- 
sode of  the  false  sword  went  around  the  table ;  for 
Major  Grandchamps  was  deeply  mortified  at  his 
own  failure  to  detect  the  imposition.  "  He  has 
torn  that  false  sword  down  with  his  own  hands, 
my  grandpapa,  and  trampled  upon  it,"  breathed 
Jeanne;  "and  del!  how  he  has  cursed  I'anglais!" 

Noemie,  radiant  in  white  gown  and  betrothal 
roses,  showed  no  more  than  Madame  de  Laussan 
a  trace  of  past  wretchedness.  Allard,  wearing 
the  uniform  of  the  United  States  Army,  —  at  the 
request  of  1'oncle  Grandchamps,  —  looked,  Felix 
Monplaisir  complained,  unbearably,  exasperat- 
ingly,  abominably  handsome  and  happy.  The 
pair  had  been  duly  toasted  and  congratulated; 
the  excitement  following  the  announcement  of 
the  fianqailles  had  a  little  subsided,  and  Major 
Grandchamps  was  booted  and  spurred,  and  off 
into  le  temps,  followed  at  close  range  by  Colonel 
Allard  and  Monsieur  Paturin.  " Dans  le  temps" 
continued  the  major,  amid  a  respectful  silence. 


278  THE  PK1CE  OF  SILENCE 

"Eh?  What  is  it,  Joseph?"  The  butler,  leaning 
to  his  ear,  repeated  something  softly. 

"  Bless  my  soul !  "  —  the  major  rose  precipi- 
tately, —  "I  thought  I  smelled  smoke.  Do  not 
agitate  yourself,  Laure,  ma  chere;  it  is  nothing. 
There  seems  to  be  fire  about  the  house  some- 
where," he  added  in  a  low  tone  to  Allard ;  "  in 
the  tower  room,  did  you  say,  Joseph  ?  " 

He  went  out,  followed  pell-mell  by  the  others. 
Even  Madame  Berthet  panted  after  the  lighter- 
footed  young  women,  who  trooped  behind  the 
men  up  the  narrow  stair  known  as  the  tower- 
stair.  Madame  de  Laussan  came  last,  leaning  on 
Sirene's  arm. 

The  tower,  or  turret-chamber,  and  the  hall  con- 
ducting to  it,  were  filled  with  smoke ;  the  cande- 
labra, snatched  by  Joseph  from  the  dinner  table, 
and  the  lamp  carried  by  Uncle  Mink,  illumi- 
nated the  haze  and  touched  into  glitter  here 
and  there  the  brass  claws  of  a  table  foot,  or  the 
crystal-drops  of  a  sconce;  armoires  and  chairs 
loomed  large  in  the  shifting  light,  for  the  tur- 
ret-chamber had  long  been  dedicated  to  that  sort 
of  outworn  and  dilapidated  furniture  known  as 
plunder ;  a  discolored  map  or  two  hanging  against 


LE   SOIR  279 

the  boarded  walls,  and  two  or  three  dusty  desks, 
seemed  to  suggest  an  ancient  schoolroom ;  such, 
in  fact,  in  the  time  of  Pierre  de  Laussan,  it  had 
been. 

"  'T  ain't  nuttiii',  Marse  Le'on,"  declared  Mink, 
with  disgusted  conviction.  "  I  done  tole  Joseph 
't  wan't  nuttin'  but  a  rumpus  in  dat  secon'-han' 
sto'  down  yander  on  de  side  street.  Som'p'n 
always  a-burnin'  in  dat  sto'.  Hmp  I " 

"He  is  right,  major,"  said  Allard,  from  the 
window.  He  had  thrown  up  the  sash  and  had 
been  peering  out.  "  The  smoke  comes  from  the 
side  street  ;  it  is  already  blowing  away."  He 
drew  down  the  window ;  the  sash  struck  the  sill 
with  a  heavy  thump  which  sent  a  cloud  of  dust 
upward ;  at  the  same  time  a  rusty  nail  fell  noisily 
to  the  floor  at  his  feet.  One  board  of  the  wain- 
scoting under  the  sill,  loosened,  swung  slowly 
downward. 

"  The  dust  of  ages  ! "  laughed  Allard,  stooping 
to  flap  his  trousers  with  his  handkerchief.  Sud- 
denly he  arrested  his  hand  and  stooped  lower.  A 
moment  later  he  had  drawn  from  the  shallow  slip 
in  the  boarded  wall,  dust-covered,  cobwebbed, 
time-stained,  the  sword  hidden  there  by  Pierre  de 


280  THE  PRICE  OF  SILENCE 

Laussan  the  day  he  passed  out  of  his  home  for- 
ever.  A  bit  of  paper,  torn  evidently  from  a  memo- 
randum-book, was  tied  into  the  fringe  of  the 
faded  crimson  silk  sash  —  the  sash  which  1'oncle 
Grandchamps  had  neglected  to  reproduce  in  his 
drawing,  and  which  Cortland,  therefore,  had  not 
included  in  his  order  for  a  "  real  antique!" 

Major  Grandchamps  detached  the  mildewed 
scrap  and  handed  it  to  Pierre  de  Laussan's  mother. 

"  Vive  la  patrie !  A  revoir,  ma  mere  cherie. 
Ton  Pierre,"  said  the  young  soldier,  from  out  of 
that  wonderful  Past. 

"  My  boy !  my  little  Pierre ! "  murmured  Ma- 
dame de  Laussan,  pressing  the  paper  to  her 
bosom. 

"  The  Lafayette  Sword !  "  said  Major  Grand- 
champs,  unsheathing  the  blade,  and  describing  a 
circle  in  the  air  with  the  flexible  steel.  "  This 
time  there  is  no  room  for  doubt." 

"  None  whatever ! "  said  Donald  Strang  in  a 
steady  voice,  looking  from  Allard's  triumphant 
face  to  Noemie's  —  flushed,  happy,  adoring  — 
beside  it. 


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love  story  in  which  the  interest  never  flags.  —  New  Orleans  States. 
Crown  8vo,  $1.50. 

THE  PRICE  OF  SILENCE 

A  romance  of  modern  New  Orleans,  with  a  lively  movement  and  a 
charming  setting.  Illustrated  by  GRISWOLD  TYNG.  izmo,  #1.50. 


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